Reinstated
by SHARP546
Summary: Humanity's best chance to advance in galactic politics is a disgraced John Shepard. Dishonourably discharged and possibly unstable, the Alliance isn't too happy with it's options for their first Spectre candidate, but they need the best. Cautiously rated M for language and violence.
1. Introduction

Introduction

The office complex was derelict, abandoned. Driving sheets of vertical rain lashed the street below as well as the barrel of the Valiant sniper rifle jutting from a fifth floor window. The figure cradling the rifle was still, silent, and watchful. Wearing only light recon armour and a tactical hood in black, he was, for all intents and purposes, invisible in the gloom. No markings adorned his shoulder pads or chest plate, nor did he carry any identification. Deniability. That was the key word for this job. No one was to know he had ever been there, and if all went well, they never would.

A Shuriken machine pistol lay on the floor next to his leg, within easy reach should there be any unexpected arrivals. Next to that lay his face plate. He would put that on when the target appeared, it's low light optics and magnification would help to accurately target in the poor visibility. It wasn't needed for now, he only had to watch. The mask looked like it had seen intense action. One side was badly burned and scarred, the result of a close run in with a krogan dual wielding an M-451 flamethrower and Eviscerator shotgun. The other side was deeply pitted with claw marks that extended from forehead to chin. Turians were deft with their taloned hands, deceptively so. Get one hopped up on Red Sand in an enclosed environment, though, and you could be on the receiving end of an organic sword thrust. Fortunately, this mask utilised micro-cameras and a holographic interface to allow natural sight without compromising peripheral vision. No way for a crazed Turian to claw out an eye.

Assassination. Not his usual kind of work, but sometimes these things needed to be done. He didn't usually work for the Alliance, either. Not anymore. It was a different matter when asari arms dealers were selling Prothean tech to Batarian terrorists. Allegedly. There was no solid intel on this, thus why the Alliance had been reluctant to send one of their own. Movement. A light armoured ground vehicle trundled into view in the scrap yard where the deal was to go down. Two asari climbed out, as well as a number of armoured mercs. The face plate went on and powered up, providing a small HUD. The shooter selected low light optics and 3X magnification.

Blue Suns. Likely in a long term contract with the arms dealer for protection. The two asari were in the middle of a terse conversation. One, purple skinned, armoured, and clearly in charge, was gesturing expansively. The other held a timid stance, wearing what appeared to be scientific garb. She was clearly uncomfortable, her blue skin slightly pale, and seemed to be arguing with the other asari. The shooter smiled slightly beneath his mask. Dissention in the ranks. Always useful.

"Base, I have confirmation on the target. Requesting permission to engage, over."  
A gravelly voice responded after a moment, "Eyrie, do you have a visual on the buyer? Over."  
"Negative, base, no buyer at this time, over."  
"Hold for the buyer, Eyrie. Out."  
'Hold for the buyer.' Someone was playing politics. The upper echelons of Alliance command were all politicians first and military second. Something more was going on here. Not that it mattered. So long as it didn't involve him, very little that happened in the Alliance did.

A further ten minutes past and the deluge of rain showed no sign of slowing. Faintly, in the distance, a new sound could be heard. A shuttle was approaching.

* * *

Niasa Keltani was several hundred years her senior, and she used every ounce of her seniority to intimidate her companion. Niasa had not wanted to bring the scientist along to the meeting, but she had been surprisingly persistant for one so timid. She had insisted on knowing what happened to the technology she unearthed and hadn't been happy to learn that it was sold to the highest bidder on the black market. Her presence was an annoyance, a nuisance, and entirely pointless. She couldn't affect the deal that was going ahead, couldn't persuade the buyer to leave empty handed, indeed, her reticence wouldn't even allow her to speak at all. If she wanted to witness, so be it. Niasa wasn't entirely sure what this 'Prothean expert' had expected when she had contacted an arms dealer for funding in return for technological finds. Desperation did strange things to people, Niasa concluded, not for the first time.

As the armoured vehicle slid to a stop on the uncertain ground, the scientist visibly steeled herself. Niasa gave an amused chuckle as she stepped from the vehicle and watched as her Blue Suns escort disembarked. The buyer wasn't here yet. Typical. They never were.

"E-excuse me, Ms. Keltani?"

"Yes, Doctor T'soni?" Niasa sighed. _Here comes the lecture,_ she thought.

"Why do you do this?" T'soni asked. Niasa blinked. She hadn't been expecting that. She shrugged.

"For money, of course." A light entered her eyes. "Well, that and the excitement of doing something highly illegal." She laughed slightly, her work always interested her, and gestured around her. "Here we are, in the middle of a rain storm, selling tech that could be used to make the most advanced weaponry in citadel space. The Council, who so very jealously guard their Prothean tech, would flay us all alive if they found us, but that's all part of the fun!"

"I don't understand you, Ms. Keltani, and I don't think I ever will." T'soni replied, a slight hint of mixed disgust and fear in her voice.

"All you need to worry about is that the money we make today will be invested in your dig site. Some of it, anyway."

T'soni sighed. Researchers were all the same. Their obsessions were paramount in their lives and that made them easy to manipulate.

Some time later, and protected from the rain by a hastily erected shelter, Niasa heard the sound of an approaching shuttle and scowled. _Ostentatious morons_, she silently cursed. A ground approach such as that she had adopted would have been far less noticeable. Nothing could be done about it now, though. Stepping out from the shelter, she took note of the symbol on the side of the shuttle as the doors opened, and nodded. This was the buyer. The four Batarians who exited the shuttle were all armed and armoured, with the same insignia splashed across their shoulders. As Niasa was preparing to approach and greet her clients, she heard a small indignant voice by her side.

"You're selling to the Batarian Hegemony?" Looking over, Niasa could see that T'soni was appalled.

"Of course, they need every edge they can get in that little proxy-war they initiated in the Traverse against the Alliance. And they pay well, which is all that matters to me." Niasa replied calmly.

As Keltani stepped away, Liara could only watch in silent indignation. The Batarian's funding of terror groups in the traverse was a poorly kept secret, but since they closed their embassy on the Citadel, there was nothing the Council could do. Or so they said. Instability in the Traverse suited the Council. It kept the Hegemony and Alliance at each others throats and away from the Council races. Batarian ego and Alliance ambition were seen as threats to 'Galactic peace', which meant they were a threat to Council interests. Liara was about to turn away when Keltani's head exploded, showering her in blood and bits of gray matter. A moment later the shot was heard and all hell broke loose.

* * *

The shooter watched in satisfaction as the Blue Suns simultaneously pulled the clearly stunned remaining asari back into the vehicle and opened fire on the Batarians, no doubt suspecting treachery. _Better and better_, he thought. The Batarians, caught unaware, were unprepared for the onslaught of fire that came their way and were quickly cut down. The shuttle pilot had begun to take off the moment the gunshot rang out, already knowing the fate of his allies, and was airborne and fleeing in quick order.

"Well, that wasn't too bad." he mumbled to himself, before opening his communicator.

"Eyrie to base, target is down. Proceeding to extraction, over."

"Eyrie, the credits have been wired to your account. Your assistance in this matter is appreciated. Base out."

Eyrie sighed and shipped his rifle. Picking up his Shuriken he affixed it to his thigh holster, fully deployed for a faster draw. Moving over to another window, he tested the rappel cord he'd placed earlier. Finding it secure, he attached it to his belt and climbed out of the window. Halfway down the wall, he heard a familiar drone and froze.

"Fuck."


	2. Introduction 2

Introduction - 2

The gunship rounded the side of the office building in a blaze of machine gun fire and rocket salvos, obliterating the entire fifth floor and cutting Eyrie's rappel cord. Miraculously, the gunship's angle of attack had prevented the pilots from spotting him hanging helplessly from the wall, still over two floors above ground level. As it was,the fall was enough to knock the air from his lungs, though his armour absorbed the worst of the impact. Eyrie wasted little time and dove for cover behind some of the industrial wreckage that made up large sections of this once wealthy mining colony. The gunship strafed the third and fourth floors with it's remaining rockets and sped off in the same direction from which it had come. Debris continued to fall for a short time, which was unfortunate, considering Eyrie had neglected to bring a shield generator, instead opting for a stealth field generator or 'cloak'. Catching his breath, Eyrie considered his options; somehow the Batarians had located his sniper nest, his 'eyrie', as the Alliance had dubbed it, and had located it fast. Some unanticipated sensor must have found him, or perhaps a Batarian 'observation drone'. The spy drones were everywhere in Batarian space. As a group, the Hegemony tended to be paranoid, more fearful of insurrection than invasion. What little intel the Alliance had shown him reported no evidence of military bases nearby, but gunships don't just appear from nowhere, then disappear without at least a cursory scan for heat signatures or life signs. The Batarians were getting sloppy. Regardless, they were bound to send in ground teams to search for a body or survivors, which meant sneaking around them to reach extraction. Getting involved in a firefight with Hegemony forces would not end well, they weren't exactly known for leniancy, and in all probability would simply sit back and shell him from a distance. No, stealth was his only option. The sound of his rifle unfolding was deafening in the silence following the gunship strike. Eyrie surveyed the immediate area through the scope, and finding no sign of hostile movement or even of life, he activated his cloak and began to move.

* * *

The heavy rain was proving to be a problem. Cloaking technology was imperfect and couldn't render a person completely 'invisible'. If someone were to look closely they would see a faint shimmer in the air, like heat haze or light playing on water. Sudden or fast movement was too much for modern generators to handle, and they would automatically deactivate to prevent overheating the system. The rain bouncing off Eyrie's armour was creating a visible outline, which meant staying under cover and avoiding open areas. This forced him to take a more circuitous route through the dilapidated city, overrun with gang violence, drug addicts, and deprivation. Though so far, he hadn't encountered a single Hegemony soldier. Which was wrong. They should be combing the streets for him with sniffer dogs and scanning equipment. No military was so complacent as to not even try to verify a body. Something was off. This felt like an ambush. Even if it wasn't, he wasn't going to take chances. The primary extraction point was in a field just outside the city, slightly obvious but there hadn't been enough time for more elaborate preparations. The secondary EP was the rooftop of another abandoned building on the outskirts of the opposite side of the city, but with that gunship potentially lurking around, he wasn't happy about attempting a landing there. They would need a new plan. Eyrie opened his communicator.

"Fixer, you listening?"  
"Yes, 'Eyrie'." Fixer replied mockingly. He was a sarcastic bastard, but a damn good pilot; never lost his cool, flexible, and mean in a dogfight.  
"Cut the shit, Fixer. I need a new EP and there's a Batarian gunship lurking around, what have you got?"  
"We could do a hot pickup!" Fixer was a fighter jockey at heart, always eager to shoot things down.  
"I don't need to get blown out of the sky, Fixer." Dealing with his pilot was a damn chore. Fixer was good, but he knew it and that made him insufferable.  
"Fine, fine. I'll take a look, give me a minute."  
Eyrie sighed and flipped his mask off his face. Removing his recon hood, he turned his face skyward, closed his eyes and let the rain cool him. A slight stubble covered his jaw, parted down the right side by a scar that ran from just under his ear to his chin. He liked the rain. There was something calming about the sound it made when it struck concrete, or when simply watching it fall. He couldn't control the rain, nor could it control him. It simply was. Shaking his head to clear some of the water, and his head from it's reverie, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was kneeling by the corner of yet another derelict building, cloak deactivated for now. His icy blue eyes were almost grey, giving him a cold, predatory gaze. There was little sign of life in this city. The gangs had gone to ground to avoid the heavy downpour, and only the occasional half crazed, hallucinating Red Sand addict roamed the streets, easily avoided. He barely considered them 'alive' in the traditional sense. They were little more than walking corpses, shambling and incapable of speech. Putting them down would be a mercy, but a mercy he couldn't afford. It would give away his position, potentially getting him killed. _By non-existent Batarians, _he corrected himself.

"Hey, 'Eyrie'. What's up?" Fixer suddenly spoke up.

_Flippant bastard_. "The odds of me breaking your nose the next time I see you."

"Ouch, and after I went to all the trouble of tracking that gunship you mentioned. I may not pick you up after all." Fixer quipped.

"Well, no one else is gonna put up with your bullshit long enough to pay you." Eyrie countered. "What's the SitRep, Fixer? Preferably without choking on all the shit that comes out of your mouth."

He thought he heard a soft snort of laughter before Fixer replied. "Gunships parked and cold at a merc base twenty miles away."

Merc base? The Alliance made no mention of that. And why would the Hegemony hire mercs on one of their own planets? Eyrie shook his head again, it didn't matter. All that mattered was getting out.

"Alright Fixer, I'm heading for the primary EP. I'll set a beacon to signal you in."

* * *

About an hour later, Eyrie stood in a barren field, cloaked and scanning the area with his rifle. The beacon he'd set was flashing softly in the dark, and could draw in unwanted attention from Hegemony forces. He needed to keep a sharp eye out. _Even if those forces don't exist, _he thought. This place was all wrong, he just wanted to get away. His gut was screaming at him that something wasn't right, and he always listened to his gut. Shortly after, he could hear a shuttle approaching. Fixer would have announced his presence by now in his usual arrogant style. He trained his sights on the direction the shuttle was coming from to get a visual. It was unmistakable. That was his shuttle. The solid black paint job, fronted by a bird of prey clutching an arrow in it's talons in red. Why was Fixer so quiet all of a sudden? The shuttle approached and touched down. Eyrie de-cloaked and flipped up his mask as the door began to open, shipping his rifle at the same time and approaching the shuttle. As the door opened fully he stopped mid-stride. Instead of the usual empty shuttle piloted by Fixer, an Alliance officer stood flanked by two fully armed and armoured marines. Eyrie scowled as he recognised the officer and folded his arms. He knew better than to reach for a weapon in the presence of three armed and well trained Alliance personnel. Much as he would have liked to.  
"Captain Anderson." He growled darkly.  
The Captain looked at him for a moment before nodding neutrally.  
"Shepard."


	3. Introduction - 3

Introduction – 3

Though little more than a metre in real terms, the distance between the two men may as well have been a vast gulf. Captain Anderson; decorated Alliance officer, N7 marine, and generally considered a war hero, had stepped down from the shuttle and stood in the barren field opposite John Shepard; dishonourable discharge, believed to be above N7 standard, and generally considered a war criminal. Shepard sneered slightly, shaking his head. _War hero, war criminal. What's the difference, really? _Shepard asked himself. War heroes killed people the same as any war criminal, they were just... nicer about it. Shepard didn't trust nice. It screamed of ulterior motive. So when Anderson stepped forward with his hand outstretched, Shepard pointedly kept his arms crossed, his gaze cold, and took a small step back, resting his weight on one leg and opening the distance between them once again. Anderson let his hand drop.

"It's been a while, Shepard. How have you been?" Anderson offered.

"I'm not your friend, Anderson. And I'm sure you can answer your own question. How long has the Alliance been watching me?"

One of Anderson's marine escort took a step forward; "Show the Captain some respect, merc." He snarled in a tone of contempt.

"Who's this, Anderson, your lapdog?" Shepard mocked. The marine visibly tensed and knocked the safety off his rifle. Shepard smiled grimly and placed his hand on his holstered Shuriken, slowly lowering his scarred mask with his free hand.

"Stand down, Alenko!" Anderson warned quickly. "He'll kill you in a heartbeat."

Alenko obediently flipped his safety back on. Shepard stayed as he was. "Good dog." he muttered loud enough to be heard. Anderson sighed audibly.

"So, how long?" Shepard pressed.

"Can you blame them? You went AWOL and disappeared, then turn up in the Terminus as a merc for hire!" Anderson countered accusingly.

"That doesn't answer my question, not directly anyway. I'm going to assume that meant 'a really fucking long time, Shepard' and ask for something a bit more specific."

Anderson placed his hands behind his back before answering. "Three years." he said finally.

Shepard gave a frustrated grunt and started pacing, a habit when he was thinking. "Almost my entire merc career, then." Shepard came to a sudden halt, his eyes widening. _Three years...  
_

"Where's Fixer?" he asked, turning back to Anderson. Anderson simply watched him.

"Where the fuck is Fixer?!" Shepard demanded again, snapping his Shuriken to Anderson's head. Two marine issue M-8 Avenger rifles quickly pointed at Shepard's armoured head, though Anderson himself was admirably calm.

"Fixer, or rather Alliance Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau, is piloting the shuttle we arrived in." he answered in a monotone voice.

* * *

Staring down the barrel of Shepard's gun wasn't something any Alliance personnel wanted to do. He was listed as 'extremely hostile' to any official Alliance contact, though he had proven open to a strictly business relationship on several occasions. Occasions the Alliance used to gather intel on, analyse, and evaluate their former Commander. The profile they had created was entirely different to the psych profile from shortly after his arrest. Willing to take any job that involved killing criminals, and a few that that didn't, he was capable of a kind of brutal calculus. The kind that let civilians die to ensure the mission was complete. Somewhere in the two years the Alliance had lost track of him, Shepard had changed from a respectable marine to a feared mercenary, assassin, and 'problem solver'. He was suspected to be behind the deaths of several high ranking Alliance personnel on outreach programs to human colonies in the Terminus systems. Whether or not these assassinations had been contract killings was unknown. Others simply went missing.

Shepard suddenly shifted his weapon from Anderson's head and aimed it at the armoured cockpit of the shuttle. Pulling the trigger, he peppered the side of the shuttle with small dents that were little more than superficial damage. Exhausting the thermal clip, Shepard cast the weapon aside and reached for his rifle. Anderson grew increasingly alarmed. These weren't the actions of a rational mind. Handling only three shots before overheating, the Valiant sniper rifle joined his Shuriken in the dust and, reaching for a pouch on his belt, Shepard withdrew a grenade.  
This was bad. Shepard was clearly out of control. Anderson stepped forward and grabbed the enraged man's wrist. "Shepard, stand down! That's an order!" he yelled, trying to snap him out of it. He couldn't see Shepard's face behind that mask, so there was no way to know if he had even heard him, but Shepard had been a marine and marines obeyed orders. Shepard's free hand lashed out, knocking Anderson back, but before he could activate the grenade, he was encased in a shimmering biotic barrier, instantly becoming still. Anderson looked over at Alenko.

The Lieutenant shrugged. "Stasis field, seemed like the best course of action." Alenko straightened. "Are you alright, sir?"

"I'm fine, Lieutenant. Good thinking, though I doubt you've made a friend of Shepard today."

"I can live with that." Alenko muttered darkly.

* * *

_Fucking biotics! I fucking hate biotics! _The innate helplessness of not being able to move had cleared Shepard's head, though he was still pissed.  
_A mole with brittle bones? Fucking Alliance and their goddamn bullshit! _He still couldn't believe it. _I'll break those useless legs of his to dust! People will mistake him for a Hanar when I'm done with him, all useless floppy limbs and pathological politeness! _It was a comforting thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Anderson approaching, spitting blood as he went. _Did I do that? Whoops. _There would have been a feral grin on his face if he could move it. Stepping in front of him, Anderson looked into Shepard's masked face.

"It didn't have to be this way Shepard, but you've left me with little choice." Anderson said quietly. Shepard thought he could almost hear regret in the Captain's voice. Reaching into a pocket, Andersonpulled out a syringe.

_Son of a bitch! _Shepard struggled in vain against the biotics holding him in check. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ There was nothing he could do as the syringe was uncapped and moved toward his exposed neck. He felt a small jab, followed quickly by a deep lassitude and a slight free falling sensation before everything went dark.

* * *

Waking up in a cell is never a comfortable experience, even if it is a familiar one. Wearing only the full body suit he'd had on under his recon armour, Shepard found himself staring at sterile white walls bathed in harsh light. Realising he was lying on the floor, he sat up quickly. A mistake, he decided, as the world suddenly started spinning, a faint nausea appeared in his gut, and a piercing ache made itself known behind his right eye. Something the lights and highly reflective walls weren't helping with, which was probably what they wanted; to break his concentration. _Who the fuck is 'they'? _he idly thought as he rubbed his forehead. _Alright, get your shit together. What are the facts? _He asked himself, drawing a deep breath and concentrating. A job. He'd been on a job to some Batarian shit hole. An arms deal. A gunship. No Batarian response. Fixer-

Shepard's eyes flew open. "Fucking Fixer!" he muttered with barely contained fury. It all came back. Anderson, the syringe, the out of control rage. Especially the rage. He had to keep it together now, though. If the Alliance had him they weren't letting him go, not before putting him on trial for desertion and arranging a meeting with a firing squad. That said, why hadn't they just killed him there? They must want something. Information? He didn't know anything that could be of value to the Alliance, he'd kept a definite distance from anything that could give them a reason to commit resources to hunting him down. Something he'd clearly failed at. Still, he had nothing for them. Speculation was pointless, a waste of valuable energy. Sitting up on the narrow cot that lined the back wall of his cell, Shepard closed his eyes and waited.

* * *

"You're sure of what happened down there, Captain?"

"Absolutely, sir, I've seen people snap before. They all do it differently, but there are some defining characteristics with any mental... break." Anderson replied, before continuing with a sigh. "Some go quiet, some scream, others laugh. What's the same is that all they want to do is kill. Sometimes someone specific, sometimes the enemy, and sometimes absolutely anyone in sight. Shepard's rage was directed at Joker- ah, Flight Lieutenant Moreau. Admiral, I'm not sure it's a good idea to-"

"Noted, Captain." The Admiral interrupted. "I'll speak with Shepard, determine his mental state for myself. In the meantime, get your people ready. You'll be departing at 0600 hours."

Anderson snapped off a salute, which the Admiral sharply returned. As the Captain turned to ready his new crew, the Admiral reviewed the datapad he carried.

John Shepard. Born April 2154 (approximation based on genetic testing, Shepard's upbringing and early orphanage makes verification next to impossible). Graduate of the Systems Alliance N7 program. In command of a squad of soldiers when sent to Torfan in 2178 to clear a bunker of Batarian extremists involved in the 'Skyllian Blitz'. Batarians were defeated, with a number being captured. Shepard's squad received casualty rate of over 75%. Batarian prisoners executed by Shepard. Shepard arrested to be brought to trial to avoid political blowback. Shepard escaped en route, killing multiple Alliance personnel, causing an eezo core meltdown aboard transport ship, before stealing a shuttle and making an FTL jump to the nearest relay to the Terminus systems. Activities unknown for two years.  
The Admiral closed the datapad. He knew the rest. Shepard's disillusionment with the Alliance as a whole had been swift and, evidently, violent. He'd been taught that the Alliance looked after their own, and had then been made a sacrificial pawn in a politician's game. Disillusionment became resentment, and resentment garnered hatred. Shepard hated the Alliance. It was that simple. This was not going to be easy, the Admiral decided. He hadn't been made an Admiral for backing down, though, nor for failing a task.

* * *

"Are you really the Butcher of Torfan?

Shepard opened his eyes. On the other side of the kinetic barrier that covered the front of his cell, there stood a guard. He was watching him expectantly, as though he considered his question worth answering. Shepard decided to humour him, if for no other reason than to relieve the boredom.

"That what they call me?" he replied disinterestedly. Taking a step closer, the guard continued.

"They say you murdered twenty unarmed Batarian prisoners. Women and children mostly."

Shepard let out a disbelieving sigh. Leave it to the Alliance to come up with shit like that. "There were five Batarians., of which one was a woman and one was a... boy. I wouldn't call him a child. Old enough to be involved in slaver raids on human colonies, old enough to be held accountable for his actions." he replied coldly.

"Accountable? You killed them in cold blood!" The guard, fuck if Shepard was going to bother learning his name, sounded disgusted. Shepard decided to play with this naïve kid a bit. He stood up and walked over to stand just in front of the barrier.

"And? If I hadn't, they would have been handed back to the Hegemony and been applauded as 'patriots'. Slavers would have been encouraged to keep attacking human colonies and more people would have been killed and enslaved. I sent a message. 'Don't fuck with humanity'. Without me, how many people would be dead now? How many would be little more than animals in Batarian slave pens? If I have to kill five to save hundreds, I can live with that. The Alliance had other ideas though and arrested me. 'The Alliance looks after their own' we're told. True, but only the select few at the top. The rest of us are expendable grunts and they are more than happy to see us die for some political bullshit. Don't believe a word your told, kid. They'll get rid of you as soon as you've outlived your usefulness."

"I'm willing to die for the Alliance!" the guard retorted, a fervour in his eyes.

"Idiot." Shepard muttered. Turning back to his cot, he continued, "There's a difference between dying for a cause and being given to the cause." Sitting down, he looked into the guard's eyes. "Maybe you'll take that to heart, maybe you won't. Either way, I don't care." Shepard closed his eyes.

"It's still not right." He heard the guard say softly.

"The few for the many, Shepard?"

"Sir! I didn't notice you arrive." The kid sounded nervous. Shepard frowned, eyes still closed. Who was this? Someone important?

"Return to your post, private. I need to speak with Shepard."

"Sir." Shepard could almost hear the nervous private saluting, before marching off for some trivial task. Shepard sighed and once again opened his eyes. The man watching him was older than he had expected. Iron grey eyes matched his hair, dressed immaculately in the blue uniform of an Alliance officer, with the bars of an Admiral adorning his shoulders. That was not his most distinctive feature however. A long scar marked the right side of his face from below his eye to his top lip, making him instantly recognisable. Admiral Steven Hackett's rise from enlisted man to Admiral of the Fifth Fleet was legendary. Charged with the defence of Arcturus Station, the Alliance capitol and seat of the Alliance Parliament, Hackett was one of the most influential men in Alliance space. And here he was, talking to a deserter, a traitor. Something was off. You didn't send an Admiral to inform a prisoner of the details of their execution.

"Shepard, I'll cut to the chase. The Alliance needs you." Straight to business, Hackett wasn't one to play politics when straightforward action could get results.

"Funny way of showing it, Admiral. You lock up all your help?" Shepard responded, looking around at the stark white walls of his cell.

"This cell is for your own protection, Shepard. You displayed some unstable behaviour down there."

Shepard snorted, unconvinced. "Right, of course. It doesn't really matter. Whatever the Alliance 'needs' me for doesn't matter. You needed me once before, then threw me to the wolves. I'm not so stupid as to make that mistake again. The answer is no, Admiral."

"Shepard, humanity needs the best. A lot of the politicians at Arcturus aren't happy about it, but that means you. We need a human in the ranks of the Spectres. We need you as humanities first Spectre."

Shepard stared at him, disbelieving. Him? A Spectre? He knew who they were, of course. Agents of the Citadel Council with unlimited power and a mandate to protect galactic peace. And they wanted to give that power to a traitor? "I don't buy it, Admiral. There have to be other choices, people who might actually want to help the Alliance, maybe? That jackass from the Blitz, Winters, or Mendez. She survived some crazy shit."

Hackett sighed. "They were considered. Winters is a good soldier, but doesn't have the stomach to be a Spectre, he couldn't make the hard choices they have to make. That little speech you gave private Manning, killing five to save hundreds, that's what we need. And Mendez? Mendez is broken, Shepard. Fifty marines died on Akuze and she saw it all. She can't get past it. She's stuck there, probably for the rest of her life." Hackett straightened slightly before continuing. "Unfortunately you're not being given a choice in this. As of 1800 hours standard galactic time you were reinstated to the Alliance Navy, given the rank of Commander, and placed under the command of Captain David Anderson, commanding officer of the SSV Normandy. You will report to him and assume standard duties." Hackett finished. Shepard stared at him, taking a moment to regain his composure.

"And if I refuse?" he asked through gritted teeth, already knowing the answer.

"You will be tried in a military court for dereliction of duty, the murders of several Alliance personnel, destruction of a military craft, evading arrest, and traitorous actions against the Alliance. Likely resulting in a sentence of death by execution." Hackett informed him.

Shepard let out a hiss of frustration. "Fuck." was the best he could manage under the circumstances.

* * *

_A/N: And thus ends the introduction. We move into the events of Mass Effect with the next chapter so, with more to work on, the following chapters should be longer. Damn but it's hard to write from scratch. Which probably means that I'm bad at this. Oh well._


	4. Chapter 1

_A/N: Re-uploaded to include paragraph breaks so it actually makes sense now._

* * *

Chapter 1

"One planet is much the same as any any other."

"Perhaps, but Eden Prime has become something of a symbol for your people, hasn't it? Proof that humanity can not only establish colonies, but can prosper from them." Nihlus pressed.

Shepard shrugged. Colonial affairs weren't really of interest to him. The last human colony he'd been to had been on fire. Poor crop yields, drought, and the resulting economic bust had brought the populace to the streets demanding change, even the local militia abandoned the government. _Yeah, because politicians can change the weather on a whim._ Shepard resisted a sneer of contempt. Colonials were usually morons. The government had taken to hiring mercenaries to curtail the violence. A poor decision, as it turned out. The mercs were just as likely to loot as the desperate civilians, only they were better armed, organized, and prepared to take harsh action. The whole mess had devolved into a running battle over resources and whatever salvage could be carried. Shepard had taken out as many of the idiot politicians, mercs, and violent civilian leaders as he could before getting out. The Alliance eventually stepped in, and with a mix of humanitarian aid and military force, brought the situation back under control. Shepard hadn't been surprised to learn that the colony had been quietly abandoned a short time later.

One of Nihlus' mandibles twitched slightly. Irritation? Turians were hard to read, but Shepard had made a point of watching Nihlus almost as much as he had watched Shepard. While not in command, Nihlus clearly expected a certain level of respect. He wouldn't be getting it from Shepard. Respect was earned on an individual basis, and Shepard had seen little to convince him that Nihlus was worth it.  
"But how safe is it really? You're people are still newcomers, Shepard, and the galaxy can be a very dangerous place. Is the Alliance truly ready for this?" Nihlus goaded.

Shepard resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Ready or not, here we come." he replied drolly.

Nihlus blinked.

A soft hiss announced Captain Anderson's arrival before Nihlus could respond. Turning toward the Captain, Shepard caught the brief look of concern that crossed his face before it was quickly hidden behind a blank, authoritative mask. Shepard wasn't surprised. His transfer aboard the Normandy hadn't exactly been smooth and Anderson had watched his interactions with the other crew carefully since.

* * *

"Is the escort really necessary?"

"Sorry, Shepard. Admiral's orders." Anderson commiserated.

Trailed by two burly marines, Anderson and Shepard were making their way to the dock that held the Normandy before it's maiden voyage. Marines by nature weren't particularly discreet and the two men were attracting a lot of attention. It wasn't normal procedure to have Alliance personnel escorted by fully armed and armoured marines aboard Arcturus station.

"The Admiral doesn't trust me, then." It wasn't a question, though Shepard didn't sound surprised.

"It's just to appease the politicians. A lot of them aren't happy about you being here and don't want you walking freely around Arcturus." Anderson explained. Shepard looked unconvinced. Sighing, Anderson continued, "You're not exactly fond of the Alliance, but here you are aboard the space station that houses the Alliance Parliament. The Prime Minister and Hackett know you're no threat here, but the rest aren't so easily convinced. This escort is something of a compromise on all sides, so just let it be. It's harmless, really."

"I hate being followed." Shepard muttered.

"They aren't going to shoot you in the back, Shepard. Relax."

Grunting sourly, Shepard threw a dark glance over his shoulder at the following marines before seemingly dismissing them. "So what about this ship? Anything I should know?"  
"The Normandy. Co-developed with the Turians, it incorporates cutting edge stealth technology. I can't really go into details here, you'll get a full briefing on board." Anderson smiled slightly. "She's a beautiful ship, Shepard."

"It." Shepard interjected.

"What was that, Commander?"

Shepard winced slightly. "I'm sure 'it' is a fine ship. Sir." He added, almost as an afterthought.

* * *

Joker sat in the pilot's seat of the Alliance's most advanced frigate, smiling in almost giddy excitement. He'd worked hard to get here and he was finally getting the recognition he deserved. He'd yet to actually fly the Normandy, but the specs that had been delivered to him promised something spectacular. Sipping at his coffee, he ran a quick diagnostic on the systems. Finding everything in order, he idly perused the other menus available to him. Finding the crew log, he noted that besides engineer Adams and himself, the only registered crew aboard was the Captain and an as yet unidentified XO, who had apparently arrived slightly before him. Frowning slightly, Joker considered this irregularity. Last minute additions to a crew were generally bad news. That this new XO hadn't even been entered into the crew manifest by name meant that this was as last minute as possible. Hearing footsteps behind him, he closed the crew log. It was probably best that nobody discover his habit of spying on the crew. It was all in good taste of course, but people had a tendency to overreact to these things.

"Joker, what's our status?" The Captain asked as he approached.

"Still waiting on the majority of the crew to arrive, sir." He answered without turning. "Just ran a diagnostic and all systems look good to go."

"Good." The Captain seemed to pause for a moment, "I think you should meet our new XO before the others arrive."

Suppressing a sigh, Joker carefully got to his feet to face the mysterious new arrival. Looking up he drew in a quick breath as he found himself looking into the cold eyes of death itself. Eyes that promised violence on an unimaginable scale.

"Cross me once and I'll crush those fragile legs of yours to dust." was all he said before turning on his heel and stalking away. Anderson watched him go, his expression grim. Finally, he turned to Joker and raised an eyebrow.

"Get that hand seen to when the doctor arrives, Joker." he instructed before turning to follow Shepard. Joker looked down at his hand and found it clenched around what had once been his cup of coffee. A raw pain was beginning to build in that hand.  
"Son of a bitch."

* * *

Advancing the Alliance's interests wasn't exactly Shepard's goal in life. He couldn't care less about Prothean beacons, relations with the Council, or humanities place in the galaxy. _Don't care about colonies either._ He thought as he affixed a folded M-92 Mantis sniper rifle to his back. _And yet here I am about to make a hot drop onto a human colony to secure a Prothean beacon, to play nice with the Council and advance the Alliance's position in galactic politics. _Checking that the M-3 Predator he'd placed on his hip was secure, Shepard shook his head. There was very little intel on the current situation on Eden Prime. The colony was under attack by an unknown enemy of unknown strength and unknown capability. The beacon was the presumed motivation for the attack, other than that, nothing was certain. Anderson was briefing the small team that had been selected to accompany him on the ground as a strike team to secure the beacon. Shepard watched from across the cargo bay.

Leaning against the weapon bench, he reflectively tapped his finger against the pistol on his hip. It wouldn't be too difficult to disappear amidst the chaos of combat. Find their precious beacon, let them think he was resigned to his fate, then vanish. He'd have to be quick though, the Alliance would have a full fleet above Eden Prime in hours. He could steal a civilian shuttle and make for the relay. Who'd pay attention to a single fleeing shuttle? Anderson would, as soon as he heard Shepard was missing he'd start screening every craft that left Eden Prime's surface. That left the local underground, assuming there was one. Eden Prime was primarily an agricultural colony, so what passed for an underground economy would be limited to small scale smuggling. Depending on the scale of the attack, even that might not exist anymore. Speculation was pointless. He'd just have to make the best of whatever opportunity presented itself.

* * *

"The mission's yours now, Commander. Good luck." Anderson yelled over the noise from the open cargo ramp. Out of the corner of his eye Shepard watched Nihlus approach, pulling a shotgun from his back.  
"Nihlus, you're coming with us?" Jenkins queried enthusiastically. The boy was enthralled with the idea of fighting alongside the Spectre. He'd watched far too many vids, read far too many stories, and believed far too many rumours Shepard decided.  
"I move faster on my own." Nihlus replied. This time Shepard did role his eyes, incapable of taking this level of cliché seriously. Jenkins' eyes practically shone as Nihlus made a dramatic leap from the open cargo ramp. Shepard buried his head in his hands. The boy was far too eager to eat up this action hero crap.  
"_Approaching drop point two." _Moreau announced over the comm.  
Once more rolling his eyes from sheer exasperation, Shepard unfolded his rifle from his back and prepared to hit the ground running.

* * *

Immediately taking cover behind a large outcropping of rock, Shepard surveyed the landing zone through the scope of his rifle as the Normandy manoeuvred away to return to orbit. Finding the immediate area clear, he motioned Jenkins and Alenko forward and started to move. Bringing the biotic along hadn't been his idea, but he had to admit that his abilities might be useful.

"What the hell are those?!" the Lieutenant exclaimed.

"Gas bags. They're harmless." Jenkins provided calmly. A local, Shepard surmised. The boy might prove useful after all. Or a hindrance, if Shepard's plan was to go ahead. Training his sights over one of the floating, flesh coloured oddities, he pulled the trigger and watched it disintegrate in a cloud of green gas.

"Damn!"

"Easily shocked, LT? I'll have to remember that." Shepard baited.

Alenko scowled but kept his mouth shut. Uttering a single bark of laughter, Shepard continued along the path. Turning a corner, he found the bodies of what he assumed were two human colonists. The corpses were badly burned all over their bodies. A black smoke rose from their flesh, of which he could see none that was untouched.

"What happened here?" Jenkins asked, sounding shocked. Crouching to examine the bodies more closely, Shepard reached a conclusion.

"Plasma weapons probably."

"Who uses plasma? That's expensive tech." Alenko inquired

"Prohibitively so." Shepard agreed. "I'm sure we'll find out soon, for now we keep moving."

"Aye aye." Alenko intoned. Jenkins stayed quiet. Rising from his crouch, Shepard moved in the lead with his rifle held ready. The grim truth of war was having a sobering effect on Jenkins. The Private would come through this a changed man. Seeing your home world burn and finding unrecognisable corpses that could have once been childhood friends was something few experienced. Shepard doubted he'd be watching many action vids after this.

Coming to a cliff edge, Shepard dropped to one knee and looked around. It looked clear, but there was something in the air. Shepard could feel it. The shelf offered plenty of cover with odd outcroppings of rock along it's length Motioning his squad forward into cover, Shepard prepared to follow when a whining drone filled the air. Flashes of blue cut through the air from somewhere ahead and lanced through Jenkins as he moved for cover. He jerked with each hit and finally fell limply to the ground like a marionette with it's strings cut.  
_Shit._

Diving for cover, Shepard found himself behind some rock adjacent to Alenko and a few metres behind where Jenkins had fallen. Carefully moving his rifle around the cover to avoid exposing himself as much as possible, Shepard looked for a target. He only got a brief glimpse before more blue flashes forced him back behind the rock.  
"Well?" Alenko demanded.  
"Two drones. Never seen anything like them, though. They don't belong to any Citadel race and they're not Batarian." Shepard blew out a quick breath before folding his rifle and reaching for his pistol. "They're pretty close together so I should be able to overload both their shields at once. I need you to hit them with a warp field and start shooting. Can you do that?"  
Alenko nodded tersely. Shepard grimaced in return.

Moving around his cover, Shepard lifted his Omni-tool. Electricity arced through the air, exploding when it impacted the drones shields. Dropping to one knee, Shepard started firing as rapidly as possible as the two drones were enveloped in the blue aura of biotics, distorting the air around them. As one the two drones exploded in the air under the overwhelming assault. Shepard slotted a new thermal clip into his pistol as Alenko ran to Jenkins' side.  
"Ripped right through his shields, never stood a chance." he explained hollowly.  
"Too bad, he was a good kid." Folding his pistol, Shepard once again reached for his rifle. "We have to keep moving."  
"Too bad? I-" Alenko seemed to catch himself mid outburst. "Yes, Commander." he managed through gritted teeth.

* * *

Running was all that mattered. Run. Survive. Live through this. Not like the others. With burning holes in their chests and mouths gaping open in a final agony. _Run_. She willed herself in an ever repeating mantra in her mind. _Run. Run. Run. Ru-_ Something impacted against her shields, throwing her forward. The jolt of hitting the ground cleared her senses as training took over. She rolled with the fall and came up pistol in hand, opening fire on the two small drones that had given chase from the dig site, the site of a massacre. _Don't think about that! Not now! _She admonished herself as the drone on the left caught fire and veered into its companion, sending them both crashing to the ground in flames. As the smoke cleared she noticed two infantry units standing with their backs to her. They were arranging a weakly struggling civilian onto a platform of some kind. Suddenly a large spike burst from the platform and the civilian was impaled in the air, blood dripping down to wet the grass beneath. An involuntary gasp escaped the lone soldier. The two units, having finished their gruesome task, turned at the sound and raised their weapons with unnatural speed. She froze. Nowhere to go, no way to avoid the shots they were aiming at here,no way to escape. She was dead. A fact her heart refused to acknowledge as it hammered at her ribcage as though it were attempting to escape. Some part of her accepted it as her gaze went blank and she waited for the inevitable.

Without warning, one of the flash lights staring at her exploded as a single shot rang out. The other was enshrouded in blue and thrown against the spike platform before being peppered with smaller shots. The unit gave a stuttering whine and fell silent. Breathing hard, the soldier turned and watched as two marines approached. One wore the blue armour of the navy, rather than the white and red armour of the garrisoned forces she wore. The other was armoured in black with a red stripe down the right arm, an N7 insignia emblazoned on the chest. Realising she was gaping, the soldier snapped to a salute.

"Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams of the 212. Damn but it's good to see a friendly face, Commander." She added, taking note of the rank displayed on the Commander's shoulder. The Commander grimaced as he removed his helmet and tossed it aside with an irritated flick of his hand.

"Shepard of the Normandy. This is Lieutenant Alenko." He supplied, motioning to the man behind him. Ashley frowned slightly. Commander Shepard. She'd heard that name before. Raising an eyebrow, Shepard looked closely at her.

"Something wrong, Gunnery Chief?"

Ashley almost laughed. "This whole situation, sir."

"Tell me about it." he grumbled. "What do you know, Gunnery Chief? What happened?"

Ashley blew out a breath. "Not much. My unit was assigned to guard a dig site. Some scientists found something."

"That's why we were sent here." Alenko said, "They found some Prothean tech, we were meant to secure it."

"Prothean? Would the geth care about that?" Ashley wondered out loud.

"Geth?" the Commander questioned, eyeing her sharply with cold eyes.

Ashley nodded. "I think so, sir. They're definitely synthetic, every last one. I don't know of any other synthetic race."

"The Geth haven't been seen outside the veil in two hundred years. Why would they be here now?" Alenko asked incredulously.

"Beats me, sir. Maybe they want the Prothean tech." she shrugged, "Maybe it's war."

"Let's hope not. You mentioned a dig site, Williams?" Shepard pressed.

Ashley swallowed, her throat suddenly constricted though she managed to keep her voice steady. "Yes sir. My unit was there guarding some scientists who were still packing up when the Geth hit us. I'm the only one left, sir." she finished.

The Commander's gaze remained sharp. "Takes steel to survive when everyone else falls." was all he said. Ashley remained quiet, not sure what to say.

The Commander's eyes narrowed slightly. "Take us there."

Ashley tensed slightly and nodded silently.

* * *

"This is the dig site. Whatever they dug up was right here."

The dig site was a mess of corpses, most in the armour of Alliance garrison forces with a few in scientific uniforms. Williams was pointedly looking anywhere that wasn't the ground. Her face was pale behind her helmet, her eyes wide, and Shepard could see her eyes darting around desperate to see but unwilling to look. The few Geth they encountered upon entering the dig site had fallen quickly, what Shepard assumed to be conductive gel oozing from holes in their armour and mingling with the red splashed liberally on the ground. The beacon was nowhere in sight.

"You're sure it was here, Williams?" he asked.

"Yes sir. They were preparing to move it before the Geth arrived, but it was still here when they hit." she answered. Shepard grunted. That meant that the Geth had it. Opening his comm, he contacted Nihlus.

"Nihlus, Shepard. We've reached the dig site but the beacon is gone. We think the Geth have it."

"Copy that, Shepard. There's a small space port connected to the colony by tram. That's were they would have taken it. I'll meet you at the tram station just ahead."

"Copy that, Shepard out." Turning to Williams and Alenko, Shepard filled them in. "We're heading to that tram station. Williams, you're in front, lead the way. I'll hold the rear. Move out."  
Williams drew in a breath and started moving up the hill away from the dig site.

"This leads to the scientists' camp. From there we can reach tram station." she explained.

"Any chance for survivors up there?" Alenko asked.

"I don't know, sir. There were a lot of Geth."

Reaching the top of the hill, Williams halted. "What he fuck?" she exclaimed, sounding sickened. Reaching her side, Shepard could only silently share the sentiment. More of the spike platforms were clustered around the clamp, the impaled colonists atop them. What had earned Williams' reaction was the condition of those colonists. Shriven grey flesh clung tightly to corded muscles, lines of blue laced the grey in haphazard patterns, and mouths gaping open glowed a similar blue.

"What's the point of this? Why do that to civilians?" Alenko spoke up, breaking the shocked silence that had fallen over the group.

"Psychological warfare, scare the populace into capitulation." Shepard shrugged. "The method's unusual, but the theory's sound."

Almost before he finished the spikes slowly started retracting, sparks flying from the corpses. Corpses that began to move. A low groaning filled the air as the bodies lifted themselves from the platforms and got to their feet, slowly shambling toward the group.

"You've got to be kidding me." Shepard demanded. "Open fire, aim for the head!"

The three marines lifted their weapons and started firing at the slow moving abominations, dropping three of them. Another five continued to advance, faster now, as their companions fell. Two were thrown back as Alenko lit his biotics. Williams' rifle poured rounds into the three still standing, killing another two. Shepard's pistol barked and dropped the third, a hole through it's head. Alenko finished the two he'd thrown with a grenade. The silence following that final explosion was deafening.

"Okay, so not psychological. Still warfare though, so I was half right."

Alenko stared at him a moment before crouching to examine one of the fallen monstrosities.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking," Williams ventured, "why aim for the head?"

Shepard blinked. "Common knowledge. Or common sense. One of those." he replied. Williams' eyes narrowed.

"You've fought these things before, sir?" she asked, disbelieving.

Shepard shook his head. "No, but the best way to kill a zombie is to shoot it in the head, right?"

"Zombies? You think these things are zombies?" she asked, looking concerned.

"The dead rising again to attack the living? Sounds like zombies to me. Why, what would you call them?"

"They're more like... husks of humans, I think." Alenko concluded, rising from his examination. "Dead humans implanted with tech to simulate reanimation. They're programmed to attack on sight, maybe."

Shepard shrugged. "Works for me. Husks, then. Satisfied Williams?"

"Only if I never see another one ever again." she replied.

"Fair enough. Let's move on."

* * *

The tram station was crawling with husks. A few Geth were scattered among them, but Shepard's rifle made short work of them while Williams and Alenko thinned out the husks. As silence fell, Shepard scanned the area with his rifle's sights. Catching sight of a familiar form lying on the platform next to the tram line, he swore and opened his comm.

"Shepard to Normandy, do you read?"

"Barely Comman-... We're getting some inetfer-... What's the sitrep?" came Anderson's broken reply.

"Looks like Nihlus is dead, Captain."

A short silenced followed before Anderson returned. "...mplete the mission, Commander. Find that beacon."

"Copy that, Captain. Shepard out."

Rubbing a hand across his forehead, Shepard considered the situation. The force that had held the tram platform shouldn't have been a problem for the Turian Spectre. There was something more here, he could feel it.

"Get down to that platform, we need to check this out." Shepard ordered, moving his rifle to his shoulder and beginning to move. Williams and Alenko fanned out behind and swept after him.

Halfway to the platform, the ground started shaking without warning. An unearthly wail erupted in Shepard's skull as an ominous black leviathan detached itself from the horizon and erupted upwards on a pillar of red smoke. Red energy arced around it as it sped towards atmosphere faster than something of it's bulk should have been able. The piercing shriek in Shepard's mind faded as it heaved away.

"The fuck was that?" he demanded of no one in particular.

Williams coughed before answering, "Some kind of Geth dreadnought, I think."

"No dreadnought can move like that!" Alenko disagreed.

Shepard scowled. "Well it's gone now. We have a job to do, let's move." He suddenly just wanted to get this done and leave.

Finally reaching the platform, Shepard knelt next to the dead Turian. Most of his forehead was missing, the plating blown clean away. A smaller hole in the back of the head indicated he had been shot from behind. This was no Geth weaponry. There was no evidence of burning and Nihlus was unlikely to have let a Geth sneak up behind him, assuming they could sneak.

Williams' rifle suddenly snapped to some shipping containers piled nearby. "Movement! Behind those crates!"

"Don't shoot, I'm one of you, I'm human!" a scared voice called out.

Not bothering to rise from his crouch, Shepard glanced upward. "Come on out. Nice and slow though, Williams here is feeling twitchy." he calmly coerced.

A small, worried looking man rounded the containers and approached with his hands in front of his chest.

"That's close enough." Shepard warned, continuing to examine Nihlus' corpse as though it were of great interest. "What's your name?"

"P-Powell" the man stuttered, "I'm a dock worker here."

"You see what happened to this Turian, Powell?" Shepard queried, gesturing at Nihlus with his pistol, still not bothering to rise or look at Powell. Shepard heard him swallow before he answered.

"Yeah. The other one shot him."

"Other one?" Alenko asked, sounding surprised. "There was another Turian?"

"Yeah, this one called the other 'Saren', I think."

Shepard looked up sharply. "Saren? Saren Arterius?"

Williams looked at him quizzically, "You know this other Turian, sir?"

Shepard ran a hand over his face and grimaced. "We've met." He stood and looked at Powell. "You're sure he said Saren?"

Powell nodded, "Yeah, Saren."

"Shit."

"What's wrong, Commander?" Alenko asked, "Who is this Saren?"

"He's a Spectre, Lieutenant. One of the best, apparently. Or so he said." What Shepard didn't include was that Saren had had him by the throat when he'd told him that. "Powell, did you see the Geth bring anything unusual through here?"

"You mean besides their army? Yeah, there was this... pillar thing. Gave of this green light, if that helps."

Williams nodded. "That's it Commander, that's what they dug up.

"What did they do with it, Powell?" Shepard pressed.

Powell pointed towards the tram. "Took it down there, loaded it up. That tram goes to the space port." he shrugged.

"How long ago?"

Powell ran a hand over his head. "Not long. Just before your Turian showed up and the other one shot him."

"Good. Stay here, Powell. We're moving on to that space port." Shepard instructed as he checked his thermal clip.

"Wait! I might have something you can use." Powell called, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Grenades. Nobody really notices when a few things go missing from the military orders."

"You're a smuggler!" Williams accused. "You greedy son of a bitch!"

"Leave it, Williams!" Shepard warned, his eyes suddenly more lively, "We have bigger things to worry about."

Powell looked relieved. "Here, take them. I'll just stay here for a while."

"Do that." Shepard told him with a slight smile.

* * *

"This things a fucking nuke!" Alenko called over the sound of gunfire.

Shepard scowled. "Just defuse it!" _Nukes, for fuck sake. Going pretty far to conceal that you were ever here, Saren. _Shepard wasn't surprised. Saren had seemed ruthless when they had met, this was just proof.

"Done!" Alenko called again. "These are actually pretty basic, seems Saren didn't have time to get real ordinance!"

"There's bound to be more! Keep an eye out!" Geth were pouring in. Two charges had been disarmed and the Geth were pushing. They wanted this place gone. A combination of biotics, overload charges, and a lot of bullets was keeping them at bay, but they could only keep this up for so long. Suddenly, the Geth began moving back toward the space port.

"Shit. Find those nukes!" Shepard yelled.

A number of insectile Geth dropships flew by overhead. "They're pulling out, we're out of time!"

"Found one!" Williams called.

"I'll get this one, Alenko, find the last!"

Passing his Omni-tool over the nukes interface, Shepard got to work. Alenko had been right, it was basic. Thankfully. Shepard sneered, _Sloppy, Saren. Very sloppy._ He imagined Saren would have a few words for his Geth servants when he learned they'd pulled out to escape the blast. A blast that wouldn't be happening. Deactivating the nuke, Shepard looked around. He could see Williams standing over Alenko at another bomb. As he watched, Alenko visibly relaxed and stood up. Shepard nodded. Dying in a nuclear blast wasn't on his agenda. Motioning for them to follow, Shepard moved toward the space port. The Prothean beacon was immediately visible. It was odd that the Geth hadn't taken it with them when they left, especially after going to all the trouble of acquiring it and setting nuclear ordinance. Dismissing the thought for now, Shepard contacted the Normandy.

"Normandy, the beacon is secure."

"Nice work, Shepard. We'll be there soon for pick up." Anderson replied. "I'm looking forward to your report. Normandy out."

"You'll have to get that from someone else, Captain." Shepard quietly said to himself. He was going to use Powell's contacts to disappear for a while. Alenko and Williams stood some distance from the beacon, speaking in low voices. In need of a distraction, Shepard approached the rail behind the beacon, intent on sending them to flush out some Geth he had 'seen' that had been 'left behind' in the rush to escape. As he passed the beacon, he caught a strange green pulse out of the corner of his eye before he was pulled to a stop by an unseen hand. A hand that continued pulling with irresistible force until Shepard stood still in front of the beacon. The hand gripped him fully and pulled him into the air. A sudden maelstrom of death, destruction, and manic screeching surrounded his mind. He felt himself losing consciousness.

_Fuck! _Was his only coherent thought before darkness descended.


	5. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_He stood on a bare cliff edge. Arrayed above was an impossible night sky. A single planet, unrecognisable to his eyes, dominated the vista, flanked by millions of stars standing silent vigils. His eyes were drawn downward. Below he could see an ocean. Blacker than the void, it seemed to have it's own metallic sheen, as though the light of all the stars in existence weren't enough to illuminate it. Nothing was reflected in it's surface, a fact he observed idly. Sensing something at his feet, he looked down and watched a millipede scramble over the cliff edge and begin to crawl towards him, it's glossy black carapace glistening. Unconcerned, he stepped closer to the cliff edge and looked down. The cliff appeared to be liquid. No, not liquid, but moving restlessly. A scuttling sound reached his ears as he realised the cliff was crawling with a mass of writhing insects, leaving not an inch untouched. The millipede crawled onto his booted foot and waited. Moments later the scuttling sound became a rushing tide as uncountable millions of insects rushed over the precipice and swarmed towards him. He felt nothing; no alarm, no fear, no concern, as he was simply overrun and consumed._

* * *

Blinking awake, Shepard stared at the ceiling, waiting for his vision to come into focus. The details were fading, but one aspect of the dream remained with him. That clinical detachment was oddly disconcerting. Dreams were a world of endless possibility, but surely some reaction was warranted from being feasted on by a veritable sea of legs, real or imaginary. Shepard didn't dream often, nor did he pay attention when he did, but this felt different somehow, more vivid but less like himself.

He let out a hiss of frustration. Brooding wasn't usually his thing, time to forget it and move on. He wasn't about to let a meaningless dream get to him.

"Ah Commander, you're awake. Good."

Sitting up, Shepard turned his head toward the voice. A grey haired woman in a medical uniform approached him from a desk, her expression cheery but guarded.

"I'm Doctor Chakwas, the medical officer for the Normandy. We didn't have a chance to meet when we first came aboard. A pity this has to be my first impression of you." she jabbed good naturedly.

Shepard grinned. "And I try so hard to get people to like me."

"Please Commander, I've read your file." she snorted.

"That hurt, Doctor. We're all one big happy family here, aren't we?"

"Well I see your sense of sarcasm is intact. How are you feeling?" she inquired, switching to a more professional tone.

Shepard rubbed at his face and shrugged. "Not too bad. Bit of a headache, but nothing serious. How long was I out?"

"About fifteen hours. You didn't seem to have any injuries when you were brought in, but my scans picked up some abnormal brain activity and I noted an increase in your rapid eye movement; signs typically associated with intense dreaming. Hardly relevant from a purely medical standpoint considering your lack of concussion, but given the context of your incapacitation..." she mused. Chakwas was silent for a moment before continuing. "I'll call the Captain down, he'll want to speak with you."

Shepard scowled as the doctor returned to her desk to access her console. Whatever the beacon had done, the end result had put him back aboard the Normandy, back with the Alliance. Exactly where he didn't want to be. Slipping down from the medical bed he'd been sitting on, he stretched his neck and tested his weight. There didn't seem to be any damage. Good, there was something that needed to be taken care of. He headed for the med bay door.

"Commander, where do you think you're going? The Captain is coming down to see you and you shouldn't be moving around."

Shepard gritted his teeth. He hated doctors, hated being told what to do. Best to play it nice though, the medical officer had the final say in any medical matter and could have him tied down if she thought he was a risk to himself.

Turning, he put on a friendly demeanour. "Just stepping out, Doctor. No offence, but the smell of antiseptic makes me nauseous. As for the Captain, I'm actually making his journey shorter."

Noticing her sceptical scowl, Shepard restrained the impulse to roll his eyes. Anderson must have put her on alert for unusual behaviour, warned her that he wasn't here by choice. Feigning ignorance, he continued; "I'm fine, Doctor. You said so yourself, no injuries to speak of."

Chakwas watched him for a moment longer before giving a dismissive wave of her hand. "I suppose I have no reason to keep you here, but I will need to know where you're going."

Shepard blinked. "To get some food."

* * *

A short time later Shepard sat at a table in the mess, staring at the grey slush that served as food aboard a military ship. It was odd, he decided, that when he'd first joined the Alliance he hadn't noticed how bad the food was. He'd had a place then, a purpose, an outlet. He'd joined the Alliance to escape the street gangs, the drugs, and degradation that was the standard of Earth's inner cities. There had been a... misunderstanding with the gang he'd been a part of. It was either stay and get ripped apart or sign up. He'd had no wish to be a soldier, no inclination for heroics, nor to defend the defenceless. All he'd seen of humanity convinced him they weren't worth protecting. Still, he'd done his job well enough to gain an N7 designation. The Alliance turned to him in difficult circumstances and he got them results.

War is a state of existence anathema to the mind, and at the same time intrinsically inseparable from the human spirit. Shepard lost himself in that void, spent too much time wandering in the dark, and was swallowed by it. His very existence became war. It was all he knew and he lived by it. Shooting those Batarian prisoners had been the culmination of years of conditioning both before and during his time with the Alliance. He didn't regret it. He didn't feel he was capable of regret. Regret was the bastion of the weak; a place for people who couldn't move beyond their past to retreat to. Regret lead to hesitation, hesitation to death, and death served no purpose. Live. Live and overcome. Survive to see the next day, to show you're worthy of the air you breathe, to prove you're better than the other guy.

Shepard snapped from his reverie. _How does lamenting the lack of real food aboard a starship lead to that? _he asked himself. Suddenly rendered unable to stomach the grey mass before him, he pushed the tray away and simply sat.

"Commander?" a slightly hesitant voice inquired. Turning to look over his shoulder, Shepard raised an eyebrow at the figure standing behind him.

"Williams? I thought you were stationed on Eden Prime."

Williams straightened. "Yes sir, but Captain Anderson had me transferred here on the recommendation of Lieutenant Alenko, sir" she explained, almost defensively.

"Uh huh. Something you wanted, Williams?" Shepard frowned. "Actually, take a seat. I wanted to ask you some things."

"Sir." she replied stiffly before moving around the table and sitting opposite him.

"First, drop the 'Sir' shit, it's Shepard. 'Commander' if you have to, but never 'Sir', understood?"

"Yes, s-, uh, Commander."

"Good. Things got pretty crazy down there, Williams. You lost your whole squad. You're not gonna go all crazy psycho bitch and try to put a bullet in your head, are you?" Shepard asked bluntly.

Williams seemed taken aback and looked away, shifting uncomfortably. "No, Commander, that would be a... disservice to their memory." She looked back up, continuing, "Figure the best thing I can do is keep going and..." she trailed off.

"And?" Shepard pressed, eyes narrowing.

Williams squared her shoulders, a fire entering her eyes. "And kill a fuck of a lot of Geth if I get the chance, Commander."

Shepard felt a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Good answer, Williams, and maybe you'll get that chance. I can't see Saren or the Geth stopping with the beacon on Eden Prime." Shepard paused a moment. "Speaking of which, why was I brought back to the Normandy? Surely a local hospital would have been better."

Williams nodded. "That was my first thought, Commander. There was a hospital close to the space port, and I suggested to the LT that we take you there but he was pretty insistent that you be brought back to the Normandy."

Alenko. More of a watchdog than a lapdog, then. Anderson was keeping a close eye on him.

"Commander, there's something I'd like to know." Williams said. Leaning back in his seat, Shepard regarded Williams warily. He knew where this was going.

"Are you _the _Commander Shepard? The Butcher of Torfan?"

Running a hand over his face, Shepard sighed. "Yes, though everything you've heard has probably been exaggerated a great deal." Sitting forward again, he clasped his hands together on the table. "I'll tell you what I tell everyone else; I don't regret a thing. I killed a bunch of terrorists, murderers, and slavers and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I stopped them from attacking more colonies and probably discouraged other groups from doing the same. I've been called a murderer, a war criminal, and a monster, I've heard it all before, but I do not regret a thing." he repeated.

Williams held her hands up. "I didn't mean any disrespect, Commander. For what it's worth, I'd have done the same thing. We have to look after our own, after all."

"Really?" Shepard asked, surprised. "Well, credit where it's due, Williams, you've got steel in you. People are usually more hesitant to bring up Torfan. The Alliance has convinced people I'll start tearing throats out if anyone even so much as mentions the place." Shepard sighed. "Do something once and it becomes your trademark." he lamented.

Williams blinked. "Wait. You actually did that?"

"Shepard! What are you doing out of the medbay?" came a shout from across the mess. Ashley jumped to her feet. Shepard stayed where he was.

"At ease Chief." Anderson instructed as he approached. "I need to speak with the Commander in private."

"Aye aye, Sir. I'll head down to the cargo bay and organise my gear." Williams strode off, casting a quick glance back as she went.

Anderson sat in Williams' place across from Shepard. "Shepard, how are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine. I've been miraculously cured of hunger too." he added, gesturing to the untouched tray between them.

Anderson grunted, sparing the tray a cursory glance before focusing once again on Shepard. Shepard balanced a plastic fork between his thumb and finger and threw it into the air, flipping end over end, and caught it nimbly, returning Anderson's stare silently. He repeated this a few times before Anderson gave up.

"What happened down there, Shepard? Alenko said the beacon activated and you were caught in some kind of energy field before it exploded."

Shepard's eyebrows shot up. "It exploded?"

Anderson nodded distractedly. "A system overload we think. Whether by age or sabotage, we can't tell." he shrugged. "But what happened when it had you suspended?" he asked, getting back on track.

"Nothing that made sense." Shepard replied with a grimace.

"Meaning?" Anderson pressed.

"I had a – fuck, this sounds ridiculous – I had a... vision." Shepard explained, hating the note of uncertainty in his own voice.

"A vision? A vision of what?" Anderson asked, that same note of uncertainty present.

"It's all a bit of a mess Anderson, but there are... synthetics. Killing people. Fires and screaming and death. I can't really make sense of it." Shepard responded, uncertainty giving way to frustration.

"Synthetics? The Geth? Attacking who?"

"I don't fucking know!" Shepard almost shouted. An ache was beginning to build behind his forehead and he found himself putting his hand across his eyes. Letting it drop, he sighed. "I doubt it's Geth. Why would a fifty thousand year old Prothean relic have info on the Geth? It doesn't make sense. None of the shit in my head does right now."

Anderson nodded. "All right, Shepard. We're heading to the Citadel now, I'll have to add this to my report before we meet with the Ambassador."

Shepard snorted. "Oh yeah, tell them all about my incoherent mess of a brain. That'll go down well." Shepard paused and frowned. "Wait, why are we going to the the Citadel? Eden Prime's a human colony, the Council won't be interested in helping."

"Have some faith, Commander. They may surprise you." Anderson countered with a weary smile. "This beacon was meant to be shared with the Council in an effort to cement relations. The Alliance has been pursuing a strategy of aggressive expansion, and that has some people nervous. We need to show that we're willing to cooperate."

"I reserve the right to tell you 'I told you so'."

Anderson gave a small laugh before growing serious once more. "There's also the matter of Saren. Alenko tells me you know him, presumably from your time... outside the Alliance."

"We've met." Shepard confirmed, his expression stony.

"All right, I won't push it. It's probably better that I don't know, but I do know Saren. He hates humans and I have no doubt he's planning to wipe us out with this Geth army he's assembled. We need the Council to revoke his Spectre status."

Shepard stared at him. "You think Saren plans to genocide humanity? That's crazy." he said, disbelieving.

Anderson rose from his seat. "We should be reaching the Citadel soon. Head up to the helm and tell Joker to bring us in to dock. And trust me, Commander, Saren is far from sane." he added before striding away.

"Not who I meant, Sir." Shepard muttered to the empty seat before him.


	6. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Shepard stood with his arms folded, looking out over the Presidium from a balcony in the Ambassador's office. Williams and Alenko seemed in awe of their peaceful surroundings, staring around at the lakes and graceful curve of the Presidium with almost childlike wonder, though Williams' silence seemed marred by a certain tension. She tracked the movements of the crowds below with barely perceptible shifts of her eyes, a seemingly lazy turn of her head, an occasional twitch in her hand at some sudden discordance in the hum of activity from below the only overt sign that she wasn't altogether relaxed.

Shepard considered that. A lingering legacy of Eden Prime? Or perhaps something more? This level of alertness was commendable on the battlefield, but in friendly territory was a sign of paranoia, of instability. He made a note to ask her about it later. If left alone it could develop dangerously, and that could put everyone on board the Normandy at risk. At best, it was a healthy caution, a habit that was the result of years of training. At worst, she'd end up in a doctor's office under psych evaluation before her court martial. The girl had potential, it would be a shame to see it go to waste.

"I managed to convince them to give us an audience and even to have C-Sec investigate Saren, but they are not happy, Anderson."

Anderson and Ambassador Udina stood apart from the marines, speaking between themselves in low tones.

"Saren's a Spectre, everything he touches is classified. What can C-Sec do?" Anderson objected.

Udina scowled. "Little. This is why we need one of our own in the Spectres. Though your choice in candidates is hardly encouraging."

"Shepard's the best soldier we've got!"

"Yes, and he's also a murderer, a traitor, and a mercenary." Udina passed a hand in front his eyes. "The Council is aware of Shepard's past and they see promise, but they are unsure of him. We can't afford any mistakes. Losing the beacon on Eden Prime was a setback."

"The information from the beacon may not be lost, Ambassador." Anderson reassured him. Udina looked sceptical.

"Yes, I read the reports. Visions of some kind of attack. The Council is unlikely to place much merit on such things. It may be best not to mention that, they may use it to question Shepard's mental state." Udina glanced uneasily at the group of marines standing at the balcony. "Speaking of which; I assume you're keeping him under close watch, Captain? He can hardly be described as friendly to the Alliance. The last time he was in custody he managed to turn a secure Alliance prisoner transport vessel into a bloodbath."

"He's not 'in custody', Ambassador," Anderson corrected, "but we are keeping an eye on him. We know how dangerous he can be."

"Arcturus is still unhappy with his candidacy, and I can't disagree with them. The man's a walking public relations disaster. The fewer who know about his candidacy the better, and if he becomes a Spectre we need to keep it quiet."

"Still, he's the best we've got and we'll just have to make do, Ambassador."

"Yes, well, let's just hope we can can get through this meeting with the Council without starting a war."

"I'm sure we can, Ambassador."

Udina looked unconvinced. "The meeting will take place in one of the Council's private chambers, they don't want our accusations to become public knowledge. Saren is one of their top operatives and a hero on Palaven, and the last thing we need is a public outcry from the Turians. They can be single minded to the point of idiocy in their hero worship. It's best for both sides to keep it quiet." Udina squared his shoulders. "I'll go on ahead to make preparations. I'll see to it that you and Shepard are given access, but the others won't be allowed to attend. Don't be late, Anderson. And keep your attack dog on a tight leash." Udina warned before giving a quick nod and striding out of his office.

Anderson watched him go. The Alliance's hold on Shepard was tenuous at best, and if all went well, that 'leash' would be removed. Spectres were nigh on untouchable, as they were learning. Anderson suddenly found himself in full agreement with Arcturus. Shepard had no love for the Alliance and they were about to give him almost unlimited power with no oversight, and the vaguest mandate to 'protect galactic peace'. A license to kill, destroy, and act as he saw fit with impunity.

Anderson barely managed to halt the shudder that passed unbidden down his spine.

* * *

C-Sec had always been a frustrating place to work. No arrest, or raid, or investigation ever made a difference, someone else would always crawl out of the shadows to fill any power vacuum, to occupy any vacant throne of criminal power, to put a new boot to the heads of the powerless.

It wasn't only the criminals. C-Sec itself was part of the problem. 'Incompetent' was too strong a term, but there was a culture of complacency inherent in the system. Officers knew there was little they could do to bring down the high level criminals, so they focused on the small timers. The dealers, the pickpockets, the duct rats acting as go betweens and messengers. It was easy to lock up a petty criminal, much more difficult to bring a crime boss to trial. So they didn't try. They left them to their devices, abandoned those who suffered under them, all for the sake of convenience. That attitude infuriated Garrus.

And now there was Saren. Executor Pallin placed him in charge of that investigation, but how was a C-Sec officer supposed to investigate a Spectre? Spectres didn't announce their presence, they didn't have expenses or travel logs, their reports were strictly confidential and accessible only by the Council. Nevertheless, there was something going on. There was no concrete evidence, just the barest whisper of suspicion, the feeling that something wasn't right in what little Garrus had been able to get his hands on.

The Executor had set him up to fail, there was no question of that. The Council must have ordered the investigation to placate the humans and passed it on to C-Sec knowing they wouldn't be able to find anything, and Pallin had dropped it in Garrus' lap. He'd never seen eye to eye with the Executor, and it had only gotten worse following the Saleon incident. Standing face to face with him now in the Citadel Tower wasn't putting him in a good mood.

"Saren's up to something, I know it! I just need more time."

"I can't give you more time, Vakarian. The Council is meeting with the human Ambassador shortly and I need your report to give to them. What do you have?"

Garrus hissed in frustration. "Nothing solid. Some odd financial transactions, connections to Binary Helix. My gut tells me there's something wrong though, I know that if I can just-"

"Your gut" Pallin cut him off, "can't be used as evidence. The Council wants C-Sec's findings and I intend to give it to them."

"Saren's hiding something. Give me more time, stall them!"

"Stall the Council? Don't be ridiculous. Your investigation is over, Garrus." The Executor turned and began to walk away.

Following after him, Garrus persisted. "If Saren is a traitor to the Council we can't just drop this! We need to take him down!"

Coming to a sudden halt, Pallin rounded on Garrus. "That's enough, Vakarian. You can't solve every problem by putting a bullet in it." Pallin sighed and continued. "You're a good officer, but that hotheadedness will be the end of your career. Justice is about more than killing the 'bad guys'. This isn't some action vid, you can't just shoot your way through some prefab foundry and expect to get a good outcome. Calm down and think. We aren't bounty hunters, we have to be in control at all times. In control of the Citadel, the citizens, and ourselves. I'm shutting down your investigation. Understood?" Pallin asked, his expression stern.

"Yes, sir." Garrus relented, his mandible twitching in irritation.

"Good." Pallin strode off, leaving Garrus to stand in the shade of a tree, too disgusted to follow.

"That how C-Sec works?"

Garrus swore and turned toward this new voice in time to see a human materialise under a nearby arch, stealth field deactivating in a shimmer of displaced light. His features were difficult to discern in the shadows and Garrus found himself reaching for his sidearm.

"You gonna shoot me, Turian?" the human asked quietly, a slight flash of teeth the only movement visible as he smiled grimly.

Garrus rested his hand on his pistol but kept it folded against his hip. "That depends. Who are you and what are you doing here with a tactical cloaking device?"

"I'm an interested party and I'm eavesdropping. That cover it?"

"Not quite." Garrus drew his pistol and aimed it at the human, who laughed. _Not a normal reaction to having a gun pointed at you. _Garrus thought to himself. He'd have to be careful. Humans could be unpredictable.

"What do you mean by interested party?" he asked.

"I want to bring down Saren." the human replied.

"Why?"

The human gave another short laugh. "It's personal. I owe him some corpses."

"You don't seem to be Alliance." Garrus said, his pistol never wavering. The human shifted slightly.

"I'm not." The human seemed to be distracted by something for a moment before he returned his attention to Garrus. "That other Turian – your boss, I assume? - He's an ass. Don't pay any attention to him. If you want to bring down Saren, keep looking into it on your own."

A jet of heat erupted from the thermal clip in Garrus' pistol as it suddenly overheated. That momentary distraction was all it took for the human to disappear once again. Garrus ejected the spent clip and inserted a new one. He should report this to his superiors, but the human had been right about one thing, and that stayed his hand.

His boss was an ass.

* * *

"And you can't get anything through official channels, sir?" Anderson asked as Shepard rejoined him.

"No, I hit a brick wall everywhere I turn. The whole system is suddenly a restricted area. I don't like it. My men are trapped there. Anything you can do would be appreciated, Captain." Admiral Kahoku said.

"Of course, Admiral. I'll speak with the Ambassador after our meeting with the Council and see what he can dig up." Anderson saluted and, after the Admiral returned the gesture, they continued on their original path.

"Where did you go, Shepard?" the Captain asked.

"Just taking a look around, getting my bearings." Shepard answered evasively.

"Well, don't wander off. The last thing we need is for you to get arrested by an overzealous C-Sec officer for trespassing. They don't let just anyone up here."

"The queue for the elevator would run the length of the Presidium if they did."

Anderson shook his head. "It still amazes me that we have FTL travel, can jump from one side of the galaxy to the other in a matter of hours, and people still complain about the speed of an elevator."

"People like to complain." Shepard shrugged. "It helps them forget all their own little inadequacies."

Anderson's only response was a sigh.

Ambassador Udina stood waiting for them at the top of a flight of stairs, a slightly impatient look on his face. "You're cutting it very fine, Captain."

"Sorry Ambassador, something came up. We'll need to discuss it after the meeting."

Udina's eyebrows shot up. "Really? I hope it's important, I'm a busy man. Regardless, the Council is waiting and we need to hurry." The Ambassador indicated for Anderson to follow, pointedly ignoring Shepard.

Udina lead them to the right of where the Council conducted it's official business, to a door guarded by two Turians in the white armour of the Council's personal guard, the Vigilate Turrim, the soaring Council emblem engraved in blue on their chest plates, weapons held at ease, though Shepard knew they would snap to his head at any sudden movement. These were highly trained military professionals, ferociously loyal and quick to put down any threat to the Council's safety. They weren't to be messed with. Through the door and down a short hallway to another similarly guarded door, they passed into one of the Council's private chambers.

The chamber was the size of a large apartment and appropriately furnished. Devoid of any windows, the walls were adorned with art from the homeworlds of the Council species. A portion of the floor was sunken slightly and several pieces of furniture were arranged neatly in this central pit. The Salarian and Asari Councillors, Valern and Tevos, were seated here while the Turian, Sparatus, examined a large painting that depicted Palaven, a silver sheen reflecting from the surface.

"Ah, Ambassador. So good of you to join us." Tevos opened, glass of wine in hand. She swirled her beverage as she spoke, staring into the glass as though she could discern all the truths of the universe from this simple examination.

"Apologies, Councillor. A small matter required my attention." Udina smoothly lied. Tevos' mouth quirked slightly, though she remained silent.

Valern sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his long fingers. "Captain Anderson. Commander Shepard." he acknowledged them with a slight nod.

"Councillor." Anderson returned the nod.

"Come join us Sparatus, we're desolate in your absence." Tevos called over her shoulder. The Turian turned to scowl at the Asari and walked toward them.

"Let's get this nonsense over with." he snapped as he slumped into a chair, "Bring up Saren on the QEC."

"Defensive, aren't we?" Tevos asked. "Don't worry, Sparatus, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. Your hero would never do anything so... questionable."

Udina cleared his throat. "I think that leading a Geth attack on a peaceful human colony qualifies as more than 'questionable', Councillor."

"Allegedly, human." Sparatus practically spat.

"Yes, yes. 'Innocent until proven guilty', isn't it, Ambassador?" Tevos interjected. "A very sensible position to hold, so let's begin on that footing, shall we?" The Councillor brought up her omni-tool and input some commands.

A panel in the middle of the floor slid away as another rose in its place. A low humming filled the air as a form slowly took shape.


	7. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Councillors. I hope you appreciate the fact that I'm taking time out of an investigation to entertain this nonsense." Saren said as his holographic image took shape. He stood perfectly at ease, straight and tall with the confidence of a seasoned warrior.

"Of course, Saren. This Council values all your work to keep the Citadel safe." Sparatus voiced, placing no particular emphasis, but glancing at the assembled humans.

"Agent Saren, you have been made aware of the charges against you." Valern said, skipping over any possible conflict. "What do you have to say in response?"

"I resent these accusations. Nihlus was a fellow Spectre and a friend." Saren answered, as composed as ever.

"That just let you catch him off guard!"

Udina slowly turned his head to stare at Anderson, his expression blank but for his eyes, which displayed a fury that promised retribution.

"Ah, Captain Anderson. You always seem to be involved when humanity makes false charges against me." Saren's predatory gaze turned to Shepard. He'd been on the receiving end of that glare in person before, and it lost none of its intensity through light years of distance.

"And this is Shepard. Mercenary, assassin for hire, and traitor to the Alliance. You're sorely missed by some of your criminal compatriots back in the Terminus, Shepard. Not many, I killed most of them after all, but I'm sure the few who are left would welcome you back with open arms. And then I can hunt you down and kill you like the scum you are. There's no one left to take the knife for you now." Saren taunted. Shepard's fist closed on the knife attached to his lower back, although his expression remained blank, and he maintained his silence.

Saren gave a low laugh. "Your kind aren't ready to join the Council." he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You aren't even ready to join the Spectres."

"I'm afraid that decision is out of your hands, Agent Saren." Udina coolly intervened.

"Indeed." Tevos agreed. "Shepard's Spectre candidacy is not why we are here. It is your place in the Spectres that is under scrutiny, Saren." she continued, a sharp tone entering her voice as she fixed Saren with a pointed stare over the rim of her wine glass.

Saren noticeably sobered. "The humans are wasting your time, Councillor, they have nothing. No proof, no motive, no beacon."

"The mission to Eden Prime was top secret. The only way you could know about the beacon was if you were there!" Anderson accused. Saren didn't even look at him.

"With Nihlus gone, his files passed on to me. I've read the Eden Prime report. I wasn't expecting much of Shepard, but if his mere presence is enough to make Prothean artifacts that have survived the last fifty thousand years explode, his incompetence is of a far greater magnitude than I thought."

"Let's get this over with." Sparatus snapped. "Ambassador, the C-Sec investigation turned up no evidence to support your charge of treason." he practically purred.

"An eyewitness saw him kill Nihlus in cold blood."

"The testimony of one traumatised dock worker is hardly compelling proof, Ambassador." Valern asserted. "Can you offer anything else to prove Saren's involvement?"

"There is one other thing." Anderson spoke up.

"Anderson-" Udina started, before being cut off by Tevos' raised hand.

"Go ahead, Captain." she said. Udina masked his expression well, but his jaw was visibly tense.

"Commander Shepard's vision. It may have been triggered by the beacon."

Tevos brow furrowed. "Vision? There was no mention of this in the report."

"It's possible the beacon transferred some information into Shepard's mind before it exploded." Anderson explained.

"Why wasn't this brought to our attention before?" Valern asked.

"Frankly, Councillor, it wasn't worth mentioning." Udina jumped in. "We don't know if it was truly triggered by the beacon, nor do we really know what was in this... vision, other than vague images of synthetics attacking people."

"You're implying that Shepard's claim of a vision is fabricated?" Tevos inquired.

"Or simply the product of an unstable mind." Sparatus sneered. "Synthetics attacking people?Sounds like the Commander was simply reliving the events of Eden Prime. Regardless, I do not see how this implicates Saren in any way. Even if it did, we cannot allow something so surreal to influence our decision."

"You're right, of course." Tevos said, returning her gaze to her wine glass and apparently losing interest in anything else. "We've found nothing to show that Saren was involved in events on Eden Prime in any way. Ambassador, your petition to have him disbarred from the Spectres is denied."

"I'm glad to see that justice was served." Saren said as his hologram winked out.

"I'm sure." Tevos murmured, her expression briefly showing distaste. "That will be all, Ambassador, we have other engagements to attend to."

"Of course, Councillors." Udina replied with a nod, before turning on his heel and striding away, indicating for the others to follow.

* * *

"It was a mistake bringing you into that hearing, Captain. Your history with Saren made the Council question our motives. Your inability to control your tongue didn't help matters either!"

Udina had waited until they had returned to his offices before he rounded on Anderson, though the journey had been marred by a chilly silence from the Ambassador.

"This little feud you have with Saren, this... vendetta, could derail everything we have accomplished thus far!" he yelled.

"Saren wants to wipe out the human race! Every world we control, every colony! Even Earth isn't safe!"

"Listen to yourself, Anderson! You think Saren is capable of a genocide on that scale? You think he thinks that? I admit that Saren is dangerous and an enemy of humanity, but no one can carry a grudge that far!"

"Saren can!" Anderson's eyes took on a faraway look. "You haven't seen what he's capable of with your own eyes, Ambassador. You can't know."

Shepard shook his head. "I agree with the Ambassador, Captain. A grudge needs a face. Vengeance can't be satisfied by collective slaughter. Whatever his problem with humanity is, I doubt the object of his hate is still alive, he's a Spectre after all. I doubt the attack on Eden Prime was personal, it's an agricultural colony. There would have been a significantly higher body count if he'd hit an industrial centre or a city. Why bother with a quick strike on a relatively undefended planet with Geth when you could just hit a population centre with a chemical weapon? No. He's after something specific."

Udina was staring at him. "Do you speak from experience, Commander?" he asked. Shepard simply shrugged.

"Yes, well, this is largely irrelevant if we find nothing to implicate Saren." the Ambassador continued with a slightly nervous glance at Shepard. "The C-Sec investigation didn't find anything, so we need a new line of inquiry."

"I wouldn't give up on C-Sec just yet, Ambassador." Shepard said with a small smile. "They're a police force, and that always attracts a few... loose cannons, to use a cliché. I'm sure there's still an investigation under way, however unofficial it may be."

"Come out with it, Commander. What do you know?" Udina asked with a frown.

"The C-Sec officer in charge of the Saren investigation wasn't happy when he was told to shut it down. He seemed to think there was something going on, wanted to keep looking. He was arguing with his boss, not something many Turians would do."

"How do you know this?" Udina pressed, suspicion etched on every line of his face.

Shepard grinned and rapped his knuckles against his chest plate. "They really shouldn't let people wear armour around this place."

"You cloaked and spied on C-Sec." Anderson said. It wasn't a question. "What if they'd caught you? They wouldn't have politely asked you to leave, Shepard, they'd have taken you in for questioning! Hell, the Vigilate would have killed you!"

Udina rubbed at his eyes. "Well, there's no point worrying about that now. There's no guarantee this C-Sec agent has found anything and I don't want to put all my eggs in one basket, so to speak."

"There's always the Shadow Broker." Shepard suggested.

Anderson scowled. "I'm not willing to put my faith in such an unknown element. Or such a shady one."

"The Shadow Broker is a necessary evil of galactic politics, Anderson." Udina said. "But in this case, I happen to agree with you. Let's keep this strictly between us. For now, finding this C-Sec agent is our top priority. I have a contact in C-Sec, his name's Harkin, if we talk to him he can point us in the right direction."

"Wasn't Harkin suspended recently?" Anderson asked. "He got caught drinking on the job. I wouldn't waste my time on that loser."

"You won't have to. I don't want the Council using your involvement to dismiss anything we find. Shepard can handle it." Udina switched his gaze over to Shepard. "Speak with Harkin and find a lead on this Turian officer's location. In the meantime, I'll see if I can find anything through official channels." Udina moved towards his desk. Anderson watched him go, his expression grim, and turned to Shepard.

"You can probably find Harkin in Chora's Den, it's a dingy little club down in the lower wards, and a favourite with local criminals, corrupt officials, and dirty cops. Just be careful when you go there, that place is always one word away from an all out brawl."

"Sounds like fun."

* * *

The music in Chora's Den was always loud. Sometimes that was irritating, other times it was useful. Right now, it could be either. All Harkin wanted was a quiet drink, but at the same time, the music drowned out the noise the other patrons made. The Krogan and Batarian criminals that infested this place were rowdy drinkers. Harkin wasn't in the mood for their shit, so he decided to avoid the bar and moved toward a small table in the back of the club.

He was halfway there when something pulled him from behind, dragging him forcefully into the shadows of a darkened booth and thrusting him into a chair. The figure opposite him was wreathed in shadow. A hood covered his face and hid his features, a long coat covered his clothing, he even wore gloves.

"Who the fuck are you?" Harkin demanded. The figure remained silent. Harkin's temper was already short, and circumstances had done little to improve on that. "Look, whatever you want, I can't help. I got suspended – without pay – so find someone else if you want something." Harkin stood and prepared to leave.

A shot of pain lanced up his arm as a dull thud drew his eyes downward.

"Fuck!"

His hand had been pinned to the table with a knife.

"Sit down, Harkin. I have some questions." the figure instructed. Harkin reluctantly lowered himself into the seat and clutched his wrist with his free hand.

"And why the fuck would I tell you anything?" he asked through short breaths.

"Because I have two more knives where that one came from. If you refuse to answer my questions, you'll find your left hand in a similar situation to that of your right. If, after that, you still refuse to answer me, my third knife goes into one of your eyes. Then the other. Then your brain. Simple, isn't it?"

"You're fucking insane!" Harkin responded.

The figure laughed. "Probably." The figure's voice grew ominous once more. "Where is Garrus Vakarian?"

"Who the fuck is that?"

The man's hand flashed out and grasped Harkin's wrist in a vice-like grip, and forced it onto the table. Another thud followed as a second knife was forced into his left hand, pinning it to the table. Harkin gave out a suppressed groan. He refused to scream.

"Don't try to bullshit me, Harkin." The man's voice was eerily calm. "I'll ask again. Where is Garrus Vakarian?"

"Fuck you." came Harkin's reply, through heavy breaths.

The figure laughed again. "You're an interesting one, Harkin. A dirty cop, yet so very defiant in the face of pain. Usually, your type squeals at the suggestion of harm." The man rose from his seat and rounded the table, kneeling next to the remarkably calm C-Sec agent. "But you see, people are very sensitive about their eyes. It's an instinctive thing. When we see something about to hit us in the face, we immediately cover our eyes. We need them to survive. To watch for prey or predators, to read the environment, to avoid obstacles. You can't cover your eyes right now Harkin."

The figure rose and jerked Harkin's head back. From somewhere within his coat he drew yet another knife and held it in front of his face. "One last time, Harkin." he practically whispered, though Harkin had no trouble hearing him over the sounds of the club. "Where is Garrus Vakarian."

Harkin's breaths were coming faster and faster, but he managed one single deep breath before he answered.

"Fuck. You."

The knife descended.

* * *

"I'm impressed, Harkin. Most people cave before I can even threaten their eyes. You've lost one of yours through sheer defiance. And for what?"

Shepard dropped Harkin's eye, now free from it's socket, onto the table and sat back down to observe Harkin once more. "All I want is Vakarian's location, or something that can lead me to him. Is that really worth all this blood?"

Harkin raised his head. One eye was feebly shut and blood poured down the right side of his face. His expression was contorted in pain, mixed with a little terror. "Who the fuck are you, you crazy fuck?!"

Shepard smiled beneath his hood. "That doesn't matter. All that matters is whether or not you get to keep that other eye. Tell me, Harkin, do you?"

Harkin's face paled even further and he continued to breathe in agonised gasps.

"Fuck! Fine!" he relented. "Vakarian was in here not too long ago, askin' about some Quarian. Someone who just came from there said they saw a Quarian in Doctor Michel's clinic, so Garrus went to check it out. That's all I know, I swear!"

"Where's this clinic?" Shepard pressed.

"Just up from the market, there's a sign out front, you can't miss it."

"You see, Harkin, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Shepard stood and dropped a credit chit on the table. "Get yourself a drink, you'll feel better." he added as he walked away.

"Hey! What about these knives?!" Harkin yelled after him. Shepard ignored him.

As he stepped outside the club, Shepard took a deep breath of the less rancid air and contemplated his actions. He'd probably been harsh on Harkin, but there'd been a lot of tension in his life recently and everyone needed a release from time to time. Harkin had simply been the wrong man at the wrong time. It was with a small smile that Shepard set out to find this clinic.

* * *

He'd gotten in unnoticed, but taking down these thugs without getting the doctor killed was another matter. There were three in total, all clustered around the human woman, threatening, intimidating. If he showed himself, she was dead. He needed a distraction, but there was very little to use in a medical clinic.

Without warning, the clinic's door flew open. The leading thug grabbed the doctor and turned toward it, raising his gun in preparation for a fight.

No threat materialised. The thug held his weapon ready regardless, though he was now open from the side. From exactly where Garrus lay in wait.

Rounding the low wall he'd been using as cover, he raised his pistol and fired a single shot into the thug's head. The unfortunate doctor was showered in blood.

"Get down!" he yelled. As the doctor complied with a whimper, Garrus aimed his pistol at the two remaining thugs, both of whom were similarly armed.

Before he could pull the trigger, blood gushed from the throat of the left thug and he collapsed. The other stared dumbfounded at his fallen companion and was caught completely unaware as he befell a similar fate. Garrus' pistol remained aimed as a human figure materialised behind the two bodies. Draped in a black coat and wielding a knife, Garrus wasn't about to let his guard down.

"Idiots." the human spat contemptuously. "You'd think that after seeing someone standing next to you spout a geyser from their throat that you'd move away. Not this guy." he said, kicking at the second thug who lay in a spreading pool of blood. The human crouched and cleaned his knife on the thug's shirt, then rose and stowed the knife somewhere within his coat. "You can stop pointing that at me now, Vakarian. As I said before, I'm on your side."

"Before?" Garrus frowned. A sudden realisation hit him. "You! From the tower!"

"Yeah, that's me. I see you took my advice to keep digging."

"Who are you?"

The human sighed. "I'm getting that question a lot today. All right, my name's Shepard."

"Shepard? Commander Shepard? You told me you weren't Alliance the last time we met." Garrus accused.

"I suppose it would be more accurate to say I'd rather not be part of the Alliance, but here I am and I have to make the best of what I've got. You going to put that thing down now?"

Garrus reluctantly folded his weapon and helped the doctor to her feet. "Doctor Michel, are you hurt?"

"N-no, I don't think so." she replied in a thick acent. "Who are you?" she asked apprehensively.

Shepard grimaced. "There's that question again." Garrus ignored him.

"Garrus Vakarian. C-Sec. Doctor, I need to know what those thugs were after. Why were they threatening you?"

"I-it was to stop me telling you about the Quarian. You, specifically, actually."

"What about this Quarian? Where is she now?" Garrus pushed. Shepard simply leaned against a wall and watched.

"She told me there were people after her, people that wanted her dead. She'd already been shot, that's why she came here. She wanted to contact the Shadow Broker, to give information in return for protection."

"What information?"

"I don't know. Something about Geth and a Spectre. I put her in touch with Fist, he's an agent for the Shadow Broker."

"Not anymore. Now, he works for Saren."

Shepard straightened from the wall. "Sounds like we need to pay this Fist a visit."

"No. After killing his goons, Fist will know we're coming. He'll have his whole club on lockdown." Garrus took a deep breath, as though he were about to take a plunge. "We'll need backup."

"Any suggestions? The Alliance can't act here."

"Yeah. There's a Krogan bounty hunter that's been asking around about Fist, making threats in his bar. I think the Shadow Broker hired him to teach Fist a lesson. You don't betray the Broker and expect to live."

"Where can we find him?"

"Fist complained to C-Sec. They'll have taken him in to give him a warning. We'll probably find him at the C-Sec academy, it's the closest C-Sec facility to this area of the wards."

Shepard smiled. "Lead the way, Vakarian." he said, before glancing at the doctor. "Sorry about the mess." he added.

"I'll have C-Sec send people to clear this up." Garrus reassured her. "They'll want to take a statement as well."

"Leave me out of that." Shepard instructed. "I'm technically not supposed to be here."

Shepard returned his cold gaze to Garrus. "Let's go find us a Krogan."


	8. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The concentration required to navigate the crowded streets of the wards made conversation impossible. At least, so it was for Garrus. Shepard seemed to flow effortlessly through the press of people as though he weren't even there. Indeed, for every curse or glare thrown at Garrus as he pushed his way onward, Shepard barely invited a passing glance and even then he seemed quickly forgotten. Garrus' instincts, honed first in the military and then in C-Sec, told him there was something off about this human.

Even while questioning Doctor Michel, Garrus had kept a close eye on Shepard. A man who took the phrase 'cloak and dagger' so literally wasn't one to let out of your sight after all, but there was more to it than that. His eyes, cold and predatory as they were, had seemed dead. Any expression that crossed his face never reached those eyes, which meant that every half smile, every grimace of distaste, every sigh of resignation was nothing more than a mimicry to put other people at ease. This man was no soldier. He was a cold blooded killer. A hunter of sentient beings.

Garrus had little choice but to work with him for now, but if an opportunity presented itself...

Shepard was a dangerous man, and Garrus had no problems with putting down dangerous people.

* * *

The human barely came up to Wrex's chest, yet he stood his ground. Impressive for a species most Krogan associated with pyjaks. The comparison had never really made sense to Wrex. They weren't _that_ small, didn't have tails, didn't try to steal his food. Most would still back down when faced with an eight hundred pound Krogan, but this one seemed determined.

"Witnesses saw you making threats in Fist's bar. Stay away from him."

Wrex narrowed his eyes at the human, deciding he was little more than a pompous ass with less power than he believed. He was probably dirty too. Why else would he protect a known criminal? Suddenly, the pyjak comparison seemed to be wholly apt.

"I don't take orders from you." Wrex snapped. He wanted to know how far he could push this.

This is your final warning, Wrex! Stay away from Chora's Den."

"You should warn Fist, I will kill him."

"You want me to arrest you?" the C-Sec officer asked, taking a single step back to create some space. A transparent manoeuvre. Wrex closed the gap with a half stride and let a small rumble build in his chest.

"I want you to try."

If there was one thing Tuchanka taught every Krogan, it was to tell when you were being watched. There was no apex predator on the Krogan homeworld. Everything was prey to something, and everything learned to pay attention when their instincts screamed at them. Those instincts were telling Wrex that there was a predator nearby, watching him, and it wasn't this pyjak or the numerous C-Sec officers around him, all armed and ready to shoot him if the need arose. The threat was coming from elsewhere.

Opening the gap between himself and the pyjak once more, Wrex turned his head and scanned the area. It didn't take him long to locate the source. Another human leaned against a wall nearby, completely at ease, indistinguishable from the crowds that rushed through the C-Sec Academy. This human was staring at him with all the intensity of a seasoned hunter. That alone wouldn't have grabbed Wrex's attention. No, there was an aura around this human that spoke of a controlled violence, the will to hold it in check when necessary, and the ability to unleash it to devastating effect. Despite this, he didn't seem to hold hostile intentions. Not towards Wrex, at least.

Ignoring the now stammering pyjak, Wrex turned toward this enigmatic figure.

"Go on, get out of here!" the human weakly called after him. Ignoring him, Wrex approached the new human. Noticing a Turian standing next to the human, Wrex grunted. Another C-Sec officer, judging by his uniform armour and side arm. That Wrex had failed to spot him before was testament to the strength of the human's aura, the Turian's being completely engulfed by it.

Stopping before the human, Wrex matched his stare with one of his own. It was generally accepted by the galactic community that trying to stare down a Krogan could only lead to one of two things; a fractured skull or death, and the two were not mutually exclusive. This was no game though, the eyes are windows into the soul and Wrex wanted to see what this human was made of. He soon had his answer.

Darkness. Darkness and fire.

* * *

Shepard and the Krogan were just staring at each other. Laying a hand nervously on his side arm, Garrus glanced between the two. If this was going to turn into a fight, the Commander wouldn't last long against a Krogan at this range, and while that would take care of one problem, it left the Saren situation unresolved. The humans were the only ones willing to pursue any investigation or bring any evidence before the Council. Getting one of their own killed before that could happen wouldn't exactly endear Garrus to their embassy.

Despite the circumstances, Shepard seemed completely relaxed, as though glaring daggers with a Krogan was an everyday occurrence. It was that, and only that, that stopped Garrus from shooting this Krogan then and there.

In an instant, the situation relaxed. The Krogan huffed some air out of his lungs, Shepard went back to leaning on a wall, and Garrus released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He kept his hand near his pistol though, you could never be too careful with Krogan.

"You want something, human?" the Krogan grunted. Garrus had to stop the grimace of distaste that tried to cross his face. He'd had little contact with the Krogan, but what he had seen, in conjunction with their reputation, left him in little doubt that they were brutes, interested only in fighting and killing for pay.

"I hear you're going after fist." Shepard replied.

"Yeah, it's no secret. Why?" the Krogan asked with narrowed eyes.

"I want in."

"Ha! And what makes you think I need the help?"

"Fist knows you're coming. He has connections and he'll use them to reinforce his bar. You won't get anywhere near him alone."

The Krogan gave a low growl. "I think you're underestimating me, human. Besides, why should I share my bounty with you?"

"I don't want the bounty."

"What?"

"How about this? We help you get to Fist. In return, you let us talk to him before beating his head to a bloody pulp."

The Krogan gave hummed deep in his chest. "Well, I was planning on shooting him, but that could work." His eyes narrowed before continuing, "All right, human. My people have a saying; 'seek the enemy of your enemy and you will find a friend.' Name's Wrex." he concluded.

"Wise culture. I'm Shepard, and this is Vakarian." he added, indicating Garrus, before holding his hand out to Wrex.

Wrex took his hand in a death grip. "Let's go kill an idiot."

"Let's." Shepard agreed, popping a dislocated finger back into place when Wrex released his hand.

* * *

The area outside Chora's Den was deathly quiet. Unusual for a 'gentlemen's' club. The last time he'd seen a bar this quiet had been after a fire. The owner had skimped on fire prevention measures and when a brawl broke the ample supply of liquor had inevitably been set ablaze. Some sadistic bastard had gotten out and barred the doors from the outside, leaving everyone else inside to burn. The bar had had an unsavoury reputation as a hangout for local scum. Slavers, dealers, the occasional police chief. Shepard had come to see the aftermath in a fit of morbid curiosity. Even after the cleanup, the stench of charred meat had clung to the air. If he'd found whoever had barred the door, he'd have given him a damn medal.

Snapping back to the present, Shepard trained his pistol at the unsealed door before him. It was an open invitation. Fist wanted them to assault his bar, he was that confident in his security. Shepard wasn't one to disappoint. Garrus and Wrex were positioned on either side, waiting for his order to go. Just running through the door was tantamount to suicide, they'd be gunned down before they could get off a single shot of their own. Of the three, Wrex was the most heavily armed. Shepard and Garrus were here unofficially and couldn't exactly walk into the C-Sec armoury and ask for heavy weapons. They'd have to make do with pistols. Wrex, on the other hand, had his own arsenal along; heavy shotgun, assault rifle, and grenades. That automatically nominated the Krogan for front line duty, relegating Shepard and Garrus to support roles.

Taking a deep breath, Shepard indicated for Garrus to open the door and Wrex to take point.

* * *

The fight, such as it was, had been surprisingly easy. Wrex hadn't just been blowing hot air when he'd accused Shepard of underestimating him. He'd used that shotgun to devastating effect, blowing apart Fist's thugs like wet paper, while Shepard and Garrus put down the few who managed to get behind the charging Krogan. Blood covered the walls, floor, and bar. Bodies and their separated parts lay in twisted piles on the floor. The faint metallic tang of blood lay under a much fouler stench.

Wrex held the last of Fist's security by the throat, feet dangling off the ground. Garrus was stepping delicately through the gore, trying to avoid the worst of the wreckage of several digestive systems. Shepard crouched up on the platform above the bar, watching Wrex as he simply held this last man in the air.

As Garrus reached the far side of the bar, he looked up at Shepard. "That's the last of them." he confirmed in a subdued voice, glancing at the unfortunate soul in Wrex's grip.

With seemingly little effort, Wrex closed his grip and crushed the man's throat, casually letting him drop. "Then let's go get Fist."

Shepard dropped down from the platform, landing on the bar and from there to the floor, and headed for the door to the back of the club. Wrex and Garrus took up positions behind him. Passing through unimpeded, they found themselves face to face with a pair of pistols. Two more humans stood in a storage area. Their obvious lack of weapons training was evident in how they held the weapons, and it marked them as workers rather than guards. One of the two, however, seemed rather impressed with himself. He held his weapon at a slant with a smirk on his face. The other was quite clearly terrified.

"Look," Smirks began, "I don't know who you are, but I'll tell you this: you've come to the wrong place, so why don't you just turn around and walk out of here? It's for the best."

Garrus laughed in his face. "Look kid, I don't think you know what you're up against here. Just get out of the way and-"

Garrus' negotiation was interrupted as Shepard raised his pistol and shot the smug moron through the throat.

"Shepard! What the hell?!" Garrus exclaimed.

Ignoring him, Shepard turned his gaze on the second worker. The man dropped his weapon and backed up against the wall. Shepard moved past him, Garrus following with a frown at the dead worker lying in a spreading pool of blood.

Wrex stopped in front of the worker and put his face right next to his.

"Boo."

The worker collapsed with a whimper, falling into a ball at the Krogan's feet.

"Ha." Wrex exhaled, before following after Shepard.

* * *

"I was expecting the Krogan, hell I was equipped to deal with the Krogan, but he brought back up and now here we are."

Fist was sitting behind a large, ornate desk set in an opulent office completely at odds with his club's seedy image. Fist himself wore an expensive, old fashioned three piece suit, and sat with his fingers interlaced on the desk. He spoke as the trio strode into his office.

"We aren't here to talk, Fist." Shepard said.

"Evidently. And yet, I'm still alive, which means that you want something." Fist replied, leaning back in his chair.

Shepard crossed his arms. "Wrex."

"Right." The Krogan stepped forward and quickly dropped his fist onto Fist's interlocked hands. As Fist yelled out in surprise, Shepard launched himself around the desk, grabbed one of Fist's wrists and slammed his head onto the table, twisting his arm at a right angle to the rest of his body.

"We aren't here to talk and this isn't a negotiation. Give me what I want and I won't kill you, take it or leave it. I've already cut out one eyeball today and it would be a shame to get this nice desk covered in blood."

"What?! What do you want?" Fist yelled.

Shepard lifted Fist's head and slammed it down again. "The Quarian." he answered calmly.

"She's not here!"

"Somebody hold him." Shepard requested of no one in particular. Garrus strode forward to Fist's other side and planted his hand on the back of the human's head. Shepard brought Fist's hand back down to the table and drew his knife, planting the point against the knuckle of his index finger.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"She wanted to meet the Shadow Broker, I said I'd set it up."

"Face to face?" Wrex questioned. "Impossible. The Shadow Broker meets with no one."

"She didn't know that." Fist continued. "I set it up with Saren. He said he wanted her, and it'll be his guys waiting for her."

"Where?" Shepard pressed, adding some pressure to his knife, enough to draw some blood.

Fist shifted slightly in discomfort. "Nearby, in an alleyway behind the markets. You can still make it if you hurry."

Shepard removed his knife from Fist's hand, indicating for Garrus to do likewise. "If she's not there..."

"She will be."

Shepard and Garrus stepped back around the table, rejoining Wrex.

"Can I kill him now?" the Krogan asked impatiently.

"What?" Fist exclaimed.

"Sure, we're done here." Shepard answered.

"But you said-"

"I said I wouldn't kill you. Wrex doesn't work for me, he works for the Shadow Broker."

Garrus grabbed Shepard's arm. "Shepard, we can't ust let him kill an unarmed man!"

Shepard blinked at him. "I don't see why not. He works for Saren, we remove him and we remove some of Saren's influence, and he loses a contact for when we boot him off the station. But, if you want to be torn apart by Wrex's shotgun, go right ahead and try to stop him."

Garrus could only watch as Fist's head came apart under the impact from that monstrous shotgun.

* * *

This whole thing seemed wrong. A meeting with the Shadow Broker was always going to be shady at best, but the group of Salarians led by a Turian approaching her now just seemed ominous. Ever since arriving on the Citadel, she'd had nothing but bad luck. Getting shot on the Presidium, what should be the safest area on the station, being mocked as a 'suit rat' by the first person she went to for help, and being threatened with being thrown off the station. Finding a doctor with the facilities to treat her had been the one piece of fortune amidst a storm of ill chance. Even then, that treatment had cost her a good deal of her limited funds. Her only option now was to sell the information she'd found. She'd heard of the Shadow Broker, of course. An information dealer with an untraceable network and seemingly limitless resources, willing to buy or sell any information. It had sounded perfect for her purposes. She even thought she could get protection from whoever wanted her dead. But now that she was here, she wanted nothing to do with this shadowy world of information and lies.

This whole thing seemed wrong. And for the first time, she was glad her father had pushed her so hard in her training.

* * *

Tali decided she was definitely putting this down as a bad day. Upon arrival, the group she'd seen approaching her had surrounded her. The Turian who appeared to be in charge had been very forward in his demands for 'the evidence'. Tali knew the information she possessed was incriminating, but she had never referred to it as evidence in any of her communications with the Broker's agent. Sensing that this was not as it seemed, Tali had called it off. Then things turned violent.

As the Salarians in the group drew their weapons, Tali darkened her visor and dropped an optical flash grenade. Unlike conventional flashbangs, these grenades were designed to blind only, meaning she could drop one at her feet and not be incapacitated. Tali used her opponents' momentary disorientation to push past two of the Salarians and dove behind a nearby waste disposal unit and withdrew her shotgun from her back, leading to her current predicament.

It wouldn't be long before they found her, and Tali's basic shielding wouldn't hold against the combined firepower of five inexplicably hostile gunmen. Chatika could serve as a distraction. Or give away her location. If she broke cover and ran, she was dead. If she tried to fight, she was dead. She needed a new plan.

Before she could formulate one, a curious Salarian head popped around her cover. With surprisingly little hesitation, Tali brought up her shotgun and pulled the trigger. The Salarians helmeted head jerked back as his visor was smashed and his head eviscerated. The suddenly limp body then slumped to the ground.

Silence reigned. Where she had expected a volley of shots, or at least a few shouts of alarm, there was nothing. Popping her own head around cover, she curiously observed the scene, ready to duck back if those shots did come. Instead, the sight that greeted her was one of silent death.

Two Salarians lay at the feet of a huge Krogan, their heads apparently driven into a wall with enough force to crush their protected skulls. The third lay against another wall, his head hanging at an unnatural angle, the work of the blue armoured Turian who stood over him, she assumed. The Turian who had led the group still stood upright. Tali wondered how he had missed the systematic slaughter of his backup until she noticed the blood running down from his throat. An unpleasantly wet noise preceded _something_ being withdrawn from his neck and he fell forward. That something turned out to be a knife as the wielder, a human, deactivated a stealth field. Despite having killed her attackers, Tali wasn't particularly anxious to meet these newcomers, they seemed just as violent as those they'd killed, though infinitely more capable.

The human turned to his colleagues. "These must be the guys Saren sent."

The Krogan released a huff of air from his lungs. "He needs better people. How do you let a Krogan sneak up on you?"

"If we could could back to what we came here to do...?" the Turian suggested, looking pointedly at Tali's cover and the Salarian she'd killed. Tali quickly ducked her head back, practically holding her breath.

"I guess so." the human responded. "We know you're there!" he called, "You can come out, it's safe!"

Safe. Safe wasn't a word she'd use to describe being in the presence of three superb killers. And a Krogan who could _sneak. _Never mind the ridiculous shotgun he carried. Tali gave a little sigh. Her situation hadn't changed. If she ran or fought she was dead, and if she didn't come out, they would come to her. With another sigh, she folded her shotgun to appear to be as little a threat as possible and prepared to step out.

Definitely a bad day.

* * *

_AN: You may have noticed that I took some liberties with Krogan evolutionary biology. Allow me to explain: that which we call instinct is the result of our various senses taking note of things that don't register on our conscious mind. The feeling we get when we're being watched, for example, is our subconscious mind warning us of those subtle signs. The Krogan evolved on a world full of predators, thus their senses would be sharper as would their instinctive warning system. The 'aura' Wrex senses around Shepard is the product of those sharper senses. Either that, or I'm making it up as I go._


End file.
